Medium Breakers
by The Full Neko Alchemist
Summary: Virginia didn’t like to think a human could be so cruel. [WA3 Postgame Fic]
1. The Drifter and the Mediums

**Disclaimer**: Wild Arms 3 and all associated characters are not mine.

-o-

Kaitlyn tugged at her father's coat and said, "Come _on_. We'll miss it."

But Clive Winslett looked back. He was unsure of what he'd seen. He looked up and down the train platform in the afternoon heat, at every passenger and door, sweltering in his leather coat under the midday sun. There wasn't much time. The items were on board, as planned. They couldn't rely on drifters now, and once the man himself arrived his cover would be blown. He had to get on that train.

"Let's get on then," he said. "Look, I've got enough money for some ice-cream."

"Ice-cream?" said Kaitlyn doubtfully.

But the whistle was already blowing. They had to run to make it, because as the doors closed and they pulled away, Clive had seen that man walking into the station. His heart was thumping within his chest; it might have bothered him to think the diversion he'd paid for had failed so successfully, but he knew what would happen were he to fail.

Ten minutes later, the train was miles away, and the floor was moving back and forth, with the last of the passenger doors closing. Clive was still walking a minute later, clutching his stomach: even when his mother had taken him to see one close to Little Twister, he never had been one for trains. Anything that went over ten miles an hour felt unnatural. He preferred using the Teleport Orb. The carriage jumped, and with it came an uneasy sickness: he lurched to the wall.

"Kaitlyn, go and find Maxwell," he said.

"You sure? You don't look so well," his daughter said. "I haven't seen you like this before. Should I get a doctor?"

A nearby compartment stood empty. Clive quickly made up his mind and went for the door. The metal that covered the round handle was ungodly sensitive, and searched out every nerve in his forearm; his fingers were soon frozen and his throat sore. But he pulled it open and flung his bag upon the nearest seat. His long case was placed with attempted care under the seat. If anything went wrong, he had his sniper rifle to hand.

Except he wouldn't - he'd spew over the enemy, he'd bet.

He knew exactly what was on the train, and he knew they would guard it with their lives. All of the old gang would be here, it was a ceremonial handover. And he was looking forward to seeing that damn Basker again. He owed him for the last time their guns had crossed. But they weren't here.

Or maybe he had the wrong compartment.

Either way, he kicked off his shoes and waited.

-o-

A lady was watching the train through a pair of binoculars. It was approaching steadily, and this time they weren't sending lackeys, which she didn't suppose was a good thing but she had to live with it anyway. Like she'd had to live coming back from Hyades, but that was another matter. And she preferred not to talk about it, because if she talked, he talked. Then they argued and she got angry, and when she got angry she did things.

Inside, the other accomplice had been taking advantage of Kaitlyn's big mouth. They'd crash the train then take what was needed. Forget the passengers; their lives were worthless.

-o-

"What're you doing, Clive?" Virginia said. "Our cabin's three carriages down."

"I needed somewhere to sit for a few minutes," he said. "I'm not ill, I just feel unwell."

Virginia was looking at Clive with a mix of curiosity and warmth, and Clive felt he was being comforted by his mother. With her memory still fresh in his mind, he hadn't taken his eyes off Virginia, whose expression was now confused.

"Are you sure? You've always been fine on a train before."

He laughed. Their hands touched briefly, but he quickly pulled it away. "I just haven't been on one in a long time. Kaitlyn seems to think I need a doctor. Doubtlessly, she told you the same thing. She's really grown since you last saw her. I'm quite proud, though I wish Gallows would stop telling me what a woman she is. She's only sixteen."

"Seventeen."

Clive looked out the window and saw a blurred cow.

"I'm older than I look. Sorry."

Then the door opened. A man with long brown hair, mixed with white, burst into the carriage. He wore an open yellow shirt, a Basker feather-tooth necklace resting atop his chest, with an ARM holstered by his waist. He ruffled Virginia's hair and scratched under the rim of his headband before slumping in the seat next to Clive, who recoiled at the smell of whiskey. This only made the jobs of their rivals easier.

He smiled.

"Drinking again, I see. An old friend told me it's the devil's work."

"And I see you suddenly acquired a sense of humour!"

Clive smiled. He raised his hand for silence, and said, "I do try. But it's good to see you again, fearless Basker. How's the hometown these days? They must be looking forward to seeing their prodigal son."

"I wouldn't know. I haven't talked to the old hag in ages. Where's Kaitlyn, anyway?"

"Gone to the toilet," Clive said. "Women's problems."

He looked out the window again. Ten minutes, and this charade would be over. But where was Jet? The Filgaia Sample was taking a long time to have a dump. And he needed everyone in a place where he could see them. They were already within his trap. They knew Clive as a friend, but he'd fooled the man's _daughter_. And if Kaitlyn died, he wouldn't cry. He didn't know her, he didn't care for her. But he could use her. Just like he was using Clive.

"What is it, Clive?" Virginia said. "You've been awfully quiet."

"I've been thinking. Personal matters," he said. "Things have been difficult at home. It's hard to deal with Kaitlyn. She's not the girl I knew. She's grown, changed. I'm thinking of the day she leaves home and it'll be just me and Katherine. I don't think I have the energy for another child. Plus, I don't think my earnings could afford it."

Virginia was looking at him seemingly understanding, but Gallows hadn't taken his eyes off Clive all through the trip, and his words were thoughtful.

"I talked to her a little while ago. She seemed fine to me."

"You don't have children," Clive went on. "It's difficult. Trust me. She gave me a real handful when little. She always wanted bedtime stories, and I found it hard to give no for an answer."

It wasn't about Kaitlyn, but it would do. The emotions were there. It was the truth, which for him was a great deal.

"Kids are like that."

"And who made you so wise?"

"Grandma. With a stick."

Clive looked at the Basker with the untidy hair and the lopsided smile, and at the female drifter who had aged but was still recognisably her father's daughter; the green eyes, the brown hair. And he was reminded of Yggdrasil, of Leehalt Alcaste, and he bowed his head. And then he saw the Filgaia Sample moving outside the door, and he looked away. It was the Sample that scared him – he wasn't human, he wasn't normal. Nor was he, but the Sample was the planet. It could know things. It could make their lives difficult. And it couldn't, not when they were this close.

Three were already within their grasp.

"Hey, Jet, Jet, Jet!" Gallows said. "Come and sit with the old men."

Jet shrugged, and sat on the opposite side. His mouth was hidden by his red muffler, and he looked at Clive and Gallows before closing his eyes.

"Look, a flower!"

Jet looked up and down before closing his eyes again, and Gallows and Clive saw how enthusiastic Virginia was, how her hands were clinging to the windowsill. And Clive remembered how the flowers had begun to grow around even Little Twister, yellow buttercups within mounds of grass. It had been a rare sight before, and now they were growing and the rains had begun to fall. The world was changing, and he and his colleagues were threatened with being left behind. And yet, the rains and flowers and meadows made him glad, for he thought if they could return, then surely everything he sought was within his grasp.

"What is it, Virginia?" he said. "A tulip?"

"No. It's green. And there's loads of them."

"A cactus." Clive could remember his notes. "Before Filgaia decayed, they grew in deserts and hot environments. I expect they'll die out soon, once the land changes. But I don't think it's a flower. More like a plant."

Virginia was looking out the window without seeming to understand or care, and Clive saw a Medium poking out her uppermost pocket. His fingers moved. Then they were stilled. Now wasn't the time, not with the others present.

"A world of memory," he went on. "Do you think Werner could ever return? I know he helped us, and you must be sad at the thought you won't see him again."

"I don't think he will… But that's all right. He helped us, and he's moved on. I think he's happy being with my mother."

"Good. I'm glad."

"But you're asking a lot of questions, Clive."

"I'm just interested, fearless leader. You've grown quite a lot within these last few years. It's like you're a whole new person."

"No, no. I've just had the time to think. We won't have our Mediums for a while, but I think I can handle it. The Guardians helped us, we owe them this much. To be returned to their chosen people. I'm just worried. It's a time of peace, and all we've been used to are pursuit and war. I just want to live in a world that will accept us, not chase us down to the ends of the earth."

"And you think that time is soon?"

Clive nodded. "I'm sure it is. But you look tired, Virginia. You should get some sleep. Don't worry. I'll keep watch. Gallows is already passed out. I think he doesn't want to go home." And he thumbed to his right, where Gallows' head was rolling against the headrest.

"If you're sure."

"I'm sure."

"And you'll wake me up when we get there?"

Clive nodded. "Though, I think you'll be up before then. We have a long time to go, and we were up pretty late last night. It's just me, Virginia. You won't have to fear a thing."

-o-

Life was amusing. The Guardians gave it, they took it away, and all humanity could do was follow their plans and do their best to live. They would suffer, fall in and out of love, and be ultimately in need of saving from their unfulfilled existence. Except they would never be, and the Guardians knew this. Were one to face them, they had to be prepared.

Leehalt Alcaste was always prepared.

He leant back, balancing a clear orb on his right palm as he considered their next move. He had cheated death, he had fooled the Guardians, and greatest of all he had spat on Werner in the afterlife, and there was nothing that double-shooting fraud could do about it. Their work was to better humanity, and Werner had fallen short of doing what was needed. He could have helped, but Leehalt wouldn't have needed it. He did not need help from someone who walked all over his feelings and enjoyed it. Indeed, flagrantly so. Well, when the Guardians got wind of his ideals and came down to punish him, they would fall into the darkness. Humanity had no need for Guardians.

The communication orb in his hands was a restored piece of machinery. He always had been the better programmer. Even Werner had been forced to accept such a fact. But Werner was a man, and Malik was a child. Melody was… Malik never noticed her, not before, not now, and he wasn't interested. But they liked his attention, and he got them to work for it. It was a mutually beneficial situation. And he needed his companions to get his work done. He couldn't just leave them to fester in Hyades, not when they all felt the same way.

He looked into the orb. Malik was sitting amongst the drifters, his presence unknown, and Melody was observing the train's progress from a cliff. Both had matching orbs, both could talk when needed. The Guardians perhaps knew of his plans already; their Mediums certainly did. But they had no way to tell, not without the Ark Scepter. That had been another artefact to come under his possession.

He saw Melody cringe. She knew he was expecting things to go off without a hitch. And so it should. They were not Janus. They always got the job done.

She flipped back her long hair and the scene changed to Malik, who was surrounded by sleeping drifters. His fingers were moving, his lips smiling, eyes looking from Virginia, to the Basker, and last to the Filgaia Sample. Leehalt switched off the orb. They had returned, they would not die – not again.

Had they been together, Melody would have reacted to Malik differently, maybe would have thought he was flirting with her some what. But they both knew there was only one person Malik cared for. She haunted his dreams, so much so Leehalt had taken precautions. The last thing he needed was Malik remembering the circumstances of his death. If the brain and its memories were electric, they were a network of signals. He was a programmer. Some things he preferred not to tell anyone.

He tapped the orb, annoyed. "Begin your operation, or I'm going to die of natural causes. Again."

"Righty ho." Malik tapped the orb. "Well, I'm afraid I can't hear you well and the connection's breaking up." That was a lie. "Oh, and someone wants to use the bathroom, so we'd best be parting company, delightful as it is. A happy worker is a productive worker and all that. Bye now."

And he was left with silence.

-o-

Malik locked the door. Everything was fine. He walked down the corridor, past the conductor, and peered inside their compartment. All three were asleep. His fingers were growing itchy. He reached for the door when the carriage shook. There followed a large bang and he was knocked off his feet, just in time to see all the luggage come crashing down.

"She's too early, I see," he said, and his fist slammed the floor.

Jet's eye moved.

Elsewhere, Leehalt clasped his hands and looked at the hole where the generator had been. What did dead people dream of? He couldn't remember. He thought of Ekatrina, and how much she meant to him. Melody was violent, obsessed with her own validation through her improved appearance. Malik was Malik; a happy, bouncing bundle of joy who bounded in with his coffee and stole everyone's peace and quiet. Yet since their rebirth, something had not been right with any of them.

He had been unable to account for the mental trauma. He wanted his colleagues to be his colleagues, who they were. Not shadows of their former selves. Only, he worried about Malik. Melody was calm, mature. He'd sought her advice, since hers and Malik's life signals had faded near the same time. And he had discovered Malik had been ill. He loathed to worry, because that implied something was wrong, and he loathed to _be_ wrong or show any emotion. Both were distractions, and they had to win. Their knowledge was power, and that power would guide humanity. Not the Guardians, and not the Demons. That had been his first and only mistake.

First they would acquire the Mediums, and then the Guardians themselves would be scared of the thought of death.


	2. The Heretic Society

**Disclaimer**: Wild Arms 3 and all associated characters are not mine.

-o-

As soon as the train had settled, Jet tossed aside the luggage and directed his ARM at Clive Winslett, whose hand had just reached the clasp of Gallows' pocket.

"I want to know who you are."

"Jet, what are you doing?" said Virginia.

"This isn't Clive. I'm sure of it."

A moment went by and then Clive's voice said, "You're quite observant. It's a pity your actions don't have the same," his voice lingered, "properties."

He was far quicker than Clive ought to be. Finally he added:

"But I congratulate you on seeing through my disguise. If you attack me, that'll be ghastly for you, because this man's daughter wasn't so apt. Which makes me wonder, how did you know, eh? And were I to get my hands dirty, I couldn't guarantee her safety. I think even this oaf understands."

"You dirty freak."

There was a click, and Gallows turned onto his back, his ARM pointed at Clive's skull.

"I'd prefer to be called slick," the impostor said, and he displayed a golden Medium.

Gallows looked at it incredulously.

"When did you?"

"That is a secret," the man said.

Jet lunged, but he dodged and smiled in a way that was familiar. Then he said, "Truly, I would hate to fight. That is why you should look out the window. You're not the only ones here, you know. To think otherwise is just pig-headed. Truly, I've had enough memories of people like you to last a lifetime, or maybe two."

"All right," Virginia said peaceably.

It didn't take long to see. She had to stop herself aiming her own ARM, because if she aimed at the monsters she saw she'd run out of bullets to stop that man. And they were monsters; their coats were sharply pointed fur, and yellow eyes watched through the afternoon sun. Some were taller than others, the leaders perhaps? If she didn't know better, she'd say they were dogs or wolves. And people were screaming.

The man chose a time to respond, and said, "I don't wish to kill them, but if you resist then it cannot be avoided. What will you decide? The Mediums or their safety?"

Virginia was looking for a solution to their problem. In her own pocket the Mediums were angry; an unfamiliar sensation. They were telling her this man did not belong, that he was an alien, that he would bring trouble. But being the Guardians, the bearers of the planet, their words were puzzlesome. But she recognised when they were telling her something. Only, Raftina's Medium was pitiful. Why was that? What could the Guardian Lord feel for this man?

And Virginia believed he would kill. She was too experienced to believe otherwise.

So now, knowing the sort of person she dealt with, she reached into her dress and brought up a stone square, no bigger than her palm, and it was made of gold. Raftina would understand; she wouldn't want innocent lives put at danger. But nor would she want the planet endangered, Virginia thought, and it seemed as if this man knew the dilemma she was in.

It didn't take Jet long to decide. He pointed his ARM at Virginia, mouth hidden beneath his scarf. He was older, wiser, and he knew what was more important.

"Don't forget what happened all those years ago," he said. "We're a team. All of us. This is exactly what he wants."

"But we can't just let them die!"

"How darling," the man said.

"Shut up!"

"What?"

Jet's target changed. "Clive Winslett. Once he finds out what's happened, he'll hunt you to the ends of the earth. Why don't you remove that face and show us who you are?"

The man smiled and looked around.

"I don't think so. You're three, and I'm one. Only, I have thirty other people ready and unwilling to be my hostages. I quite fancy those odds. I wonder what they'd look like with their throats torn out. Maybe I could make their internal organs bleed. I hear flu's prevalent this time of year."

Virginia looked at the Medium he held: Grudiev's. That meant, without Clive, there were eight. She couldn't perform a summoning; they would all be hurt. This man, themselves, and most of all the other passengers. And were it to fail… She didn't like to think on what would happen. This man was a human being. She didn't want to think mankind could be so cruel.

"I've got money," she said, and took out her purse.

The man looked at it incredulously.

"Do I look like the sort who can be bought? Well, I'm quite offended. But there is a lot there. Your offer is acceptable." He nodded, and Virginia tossed the purse. "Only, I'm quite unreliable. Thank you for your offering. Now if you please, the Mediums."

The man looked at Jet and Gallows. He could sense the Guardian's energy, and the one he reviled most of all was now in his possession. Leehalt wanted them all, quick and without failure. He was a hard taskmaster, but always had been. He was used to the man's moods and swings. And Melody's. Now hers were something to be feared. His plan had worked; the girl was loathe to hurt the innocent, and that was her weakness. The three of them had long since conquered their own naivity. Now it was all about survival. And for that, the Guardians had to disappear.

"Mediums, please," Malik repeated, growing impatient.

Any longer, he expected to be punished. Leehalt had quite a temper when things didn't go exactly as he planned. It was all rather exciting.

"What're you planning?" Virginia said.

"Now that would be telling. My lips are sealed." And he drew a finger across for emphasis.

-o-

When Virginia first became aware the light was burning her eyes, and her head was burning more than ever. She put a hand to her mouth to quell the sickness and saw a canteen sticking out an unlocked zip, in Jet's bag. There was a commotion as she reached for it; it was water, but the cold liquid did nothing to soothe her fever. The floor seemed to waver and as she fell to the cabin Jet caught her and settled her down by the bench.

"Virginia," he said, "eat these Antidotes before you get any worse."

She had a quick chew of the bitter-tasting herbs, longing to spit them out but knowing she wouldn't. They were now acidic, but she felt cooler and more alert, and better for it.

"Where's Gallows?" she said.

"Gone chasing after that man. Are you all right?"

Virginia rose to her feet, checking her guns were in working order, and then wiped her forehead with her sleeves. She was still shaky from that quick onset of fever, and she wondered where it came from. A memory came to mind, but she laughed it off. They were dead. But father had been a ghost, she thought. Perhaps… No, it was too unreal.

"Kaitlyn. Jet, where is she?"

"Dunno. Gallows went off, and you were my first concern. But that man fled the train – I'm sure she's fine."

Virginia cupped her face. "Oh, if Clive learns about this," she cried. "but he'll help. He'll know what to do. But it wasn't him, and I should have realised. I wouldn't have made these mistakes back then – our lives depended on it, and now."

Jet was listening, with his ARM resting on his shoulder, but his eyes were focused elsewhere. Virginia had reminded him of a time he'd moved on from. He was the Filgaia Sample, yes, and a clone of Elliot Enduro's son, but he was his own person. And he'd grown quite rich from his drifter work. They all had. And then they'd spend all that money on food and board, and visiting Kaitlyn, and trying to stop Maya Schrodinger from ruining everything. The presidential elections were coming up, and the last thing they wanted was that hussy in charge.

"You sure you're all right?" he asked.

Virginia nodded.

"Then we should check on Gallows."

She nodded again. "Yea, you go. I'll go look for Kaitlyn." She pulled open the door, which was stiff and hard from the crash. "Just you make sure you're careful."

"Likewise."

And so Virginia left.

-o-

Malik, however, was nowhere near Gallows. He laughed, finding the whole situation amusing and full of pleasure. He was holding a small piece of electronic equipment next to his ear, where he hooked it and freed his hands. "Don't be so serious, Melody. They were on the train, but they don't know who I am. Leehalt told me not to talk, right? Which means I keep this shut. Buuuuut they kind of got the jump on me when you rammed this thing early. Honestly, what's your problem?"

"You called me Melody."

"So?"

"Leehalt told us never to use our real names. Didn't he?"

"… Oh."

Malik tapped the earpiece and ran across the carriage. "Gotta go. I'll appreciate it if you captured some test subjects," he said. "The last lot died on me." With Melody's yelling, he admitted the truth. "All right. I ran out."

Melody wasn't pleased. "I told you, you were supposed to make due with the ones I had gotten. You're so hopeless!"

Back down the train, Malik heard screaming and snarls as people were yanked from the inside. The drifters would surely go to their aid. He then shrugged. "Well, people break so easily."

He kicked open the door and looked out across the wasteland. No longer was it a desert; there were signs of life, of grass, of wind. He walked onto the gangway and felt Grudiev's Medium radiating with anger, fear; all elements of the unknown. Of all the places they met, around the world, it was on a train. Considering how Janus had involved those drifters, it was an ironic twist of fate.

"Malik, your idea of people is… Well, I'd rather not say. Just make sure you come home."

"Are you trying to say you care about me?"

"Not at all."

And then Melody terminated the device.

Malik pulled on the carriage door. "She loves me really."

He sighed and inched carefully round the side. This carriage was empty, apart from one compartment; inside was a pile of fallen luggage. His eyes narrowed; if the Medium grew any more difficult. But Leehalt was right; it was just a slab of gold. He smiled. All the better to melt it down. Perhaps treat himself to a slap-up meal in Little Twister. He had to wonder if Angela still ran the saloon there.

"Stop right there!"

Malik heard a voice from outside. He turned around and there Virginia, her guns aimed at him. How amusing. He brushed his hair back and shrugged.

"Tell me who you are."

"The Heretic Society," he said, smiling at his little joke. "And really. Aim straight."

"Why are you after the Mediums?" she inquired.

"Really, you're not very bright."

"Just hand it over."

"Yes, dear, I'll do what you tell me. I haven't the patience to wait while you order and intimidate. My friends are rather hungry," he motioned to the three wolfish monsters encroaching on their space. "All I have to do is knock you off and my pets get a new toy. Now wouldn't that be splendid? And truth be told, I like being ordered. Reminds me of the good old days."

Virginia fired two warning shots: one at the imposter and one at the wolves. "Now be a good man and keep your hands where I can see them. You're going to tell me what is going on, and stop those friends of yours. Or I'm going to empty a few rounds into you. How about that?"

She wouldn't shoot to kill. Not yet, not unless it was the only option.

"Obvious, obvious."

The window came crashing down, but Malik avoided it. He moved quicker than the girl could see. It was at times like this he missed Asgard, who'd flatten the Drifter with that Wide Barrier of his. Her blood would stain the ground and the Mediums would be all his. The Mediums...

"Can't stop, busy busy busy," he called, and he dodged past Virginia back into the corridor. He looked left, right, and bolted towards the next before anyone could stop him.

Malik was halfway down when he heard gunfire. Glass fell overhead, but he kept on going. His head turned and he was forced to swerve out the way of Virginia's bullets. Fear settled in the pit of his stomach; if he returned with just one, Leehalt would be unpleased. And the last thing he wanted was a hard life.

"Things would be a lot easier if you just handed them over," he said. He then shrugged. "If you don't hand them over, I'm sure my lady will kill everyone on this train."

Melody's voice echoed in the earpiece. "It would be my pleasure."

That's when the gunfire went off again and the bullets seemed to pass through Malik's body. "Ten out of ten for effort." Then the lampshade flew at his head and he raised an arm to block it. There was no need to panic – he had the Earth Medium, nobody would be making him lazy today.

"Malik, hurry and get the Mediums. Kill everyone if you have to." Melody's words came too late as the impostor was blocked off by Gallows, caught in a pincer movement. He kicked the floor and let pass a long sigh. "Damn..."

Gallows smirked at him. "You'll be giving my buddy back, if you know what's good for you."

Malik looked at Gallows with his blue eyes. The situation was grim but he laughed, and carried on laughing. He had faced worse. He had died, and come back. Truly he was invincible. He raised his left hand and smiled apologetically; energy pooled before his palm, white and yellow light amassing before it exploded out in a hexagonal wave. He dodged bullets easy enough, and their magic left him with little to fear. They hadn't realised it, but they'd walked right into his trap. This whole corridor was filled with his own unique brand of germs.

"I'd prefer not to fight, but if that's what you want then it really can't be avoided," he said. His skin looked pallid, ill. "You wouldn't want me to. Honestly."

Gallows estimated the situation. His hands were clammy and something had wedged itself in his throat. If those people were already dead, then... He raised his gun and looked through the scope at Virginia. If you couldn't hit one, then hit the one you can. He then fired.

-o-

Leehalt was waiting still, his impatience beginning to show; he cast his headdress aside and slammed the console with his fist. The waiting was something he would not tolerate; not Malik and Melody's constant arguing ruining their work, but the wait to know they would continue to survive. And for that, those who knew their identity, the Guardians, had to be removed. He sighed; he didn't want to discard his name. It was who he was. Things would have been difficult, were Malik to have come first. Leehalt knew how and why they had come to be, only there were some who could never know. And thinking of the past was a waste of time, one must always live for the future. The Guardians were the past. He, Leehalt, was the future.

And Malik and Melody would not be done for several minutes yet.

He had awakened the two, of course. Not only were they his workers, they were the closest thing he had to friends. But Melody had come first. This was not out of favouritism, Leehalt considered himself to be prudent, wise; above such petty concerns. Malik cared for them behind another, his mother. Leehalt knew why, and he was concerned. But Malik was Malik and Malik's business was exactly that. But he knew from Melody that Malik had killed her, after succeeding in what he'd sought for so long, and were Malik to learn the truth he would surely become as unstable, and a threat to not only their operation but their lives. And having to kill a man he thought of as a child would not be something he enjoyed.

So, with Melody's input, he had developed a solution. Memory was electronic signals, he was a programmer. The impulses were akin to files, and those could always be deleted; such as he'd erased that part of Malik's memory before awakening him. And it was foolproof, he'd known it had to be. But Malik was asking questions, ones he found difficult. But for all of them he would live without that knowledge. Melody also had doubts of her own, that he could tell in how she'd become quieter and hung round Malik more, questioning him about their existence. However, Malik wasn't concerned and she was far too vain to consider she was something less than she was.

But Leehalt was also grateful. He knew how valuable friends were.

-o-

Melody glanced at the train and at the demonic wolves stations around its cars. She sighed; at one time she wouldn't care about such deep thoughts, but now was different. She could remember her own death. Leehalt had told her to forget it; but such a thing was easier to say than accomplish. He also spoke the truth when calling her vain, but time spent in the afterlife had given her room to think and feel. The planet was changing for the better. Flowers of beauty were appearing, and the grass was fresh and the cattle had spread further afield; she could probably start to live again, maybe even move home to Little Rock. But she wanted to help Malik. His obsession with his mother worried her, and it was so deeply ingrained Leehalt hadn't been able to remove it.

She watched Malik as he fled from the train and disappeared in a flash of light. His childishness bothered most, but she liked it. He would argue with her, and the rage she built within made her feel alive. Knowiwing that she knew the truth of his mother's death, it bothered her. Hiding it from him. She'd have to tell him eventually, and that might drive him mad. She hoped, before then, she could guide him from his obsession.

To a point at least. Melody knew he would never relinquish that need, just as she would never give away her makeup and creams. The Panakeia had been ejected from their bloodstream; the planet couldn't reject them. Nor did they possess the demon nanomachines. No longer were they bound to serve Siegfried. All that remained were the Guardians, and then they were free.

She sat on the cliff-edge and looked at her hands. Then she, too, disappeared, but a question remained. Was she who she thought she was?


	3. Little Twister

**Disclaimer**: Wild Arms 3 and all associated characters are not mine.

-o-

Malik appeared beside Melody. He'd teleported to escape, and he could do the same to get home as easily. She seemed unhappy, but it was nothing he was concerned by. And, although it only registered for a brief moment, his smile dropped. He wrapped an arm around her side and touched the Teleport Orb with his free hand. They disappeared after that.

He hadn't wanted to leave the few Mediums behind. Leehalt would be mad, and their objective was now harder to accomplish. Their presence was known, though not their identities. And if those four drifters discovered it things would be difficult.

He arrived not in his room at Yggdrasil, towhere he was fond of fleeing , but its medical centre. He left Melody's side and headed for a draw, taking out the compresses, bandages and medicines that had survived for decades. They were old, but they had to do. Malik couldn't see Melody. Perhaps her depression would be enough to avert Leehalt's ire, at least for the moment.

Only, she touched a console. It wasn't something Malik looked forward to, but if they didn't tell the old goat now he'd only get more earache later.

"Leehalt, you should come down to the lab in sector three. Malik's got something to say," Melody transmitted. She then cut it off.

-o-

"If it wasn't old greenie here, then who?" said Gallows, swinging his chair round. "Why steal the Mediums? Who even knows we have them? That's what I can't understand. Of all the… Granny's going to kill me."

"Did Catherine get your letter?" Jet asked Clive.

"Yes. The two are on the train as we speak."

"And how is Kaitlyn?" said Virginia.

"Shaken but otherwise fine."

Two days later they were in the saloon at Claibourne. Clive had ordered them rooms and a meal, and Gallows had guzzled the five hundred Gella bottle of gin hungrily and then begun to think on more urgent matters. Jet had kicked Myra out of earshot, and though the spinster had bristled with ire, she'd soon realised their money would cover a day's business, and proceeded to read in one of the upstairs rooms.

Virginia watched the Mediums with curiosity and apprehension. Gallows had got it right; the only ones who knew of their possession were the Baskar and themselves. The rest of the world only knew of replicas, stone slabs such as the one Gallows had possessed upon their first meeting.

"Seven," said the Drifter, arranging them. "Raftina and Zephyr. Moor Gault, Schtudark and Fengalon, and Stare Roe and Dan Dariam's. This man knew what he was looking for, there's no question about it."

"And you have no clue as to his identity?" Clive said.

"None. He looked exactly like you, right down to the last detail. Though, now I think about it, his movements were different. He was quick, and I don't recall seeing your ARM."

"The question is what are we going to do about it?" Jet said.

Virginia took out a handkerchief and wiped Raftina's Medium clean. The Guardian Lord should have been frightened, afraid. But what Virginia had sensed was pity. She couldn't speak. If they knew anything of this man, they'd easily be able to check. And then suddenly she had it. That man, far as she knew, was going home empty-handed.

"Well," said Clive, trying to keep calm, "We must first ascertain his identity, or at least who he works for. He mentioned The Heretic Society, correct? But if I were up to no good, the last thing I want is to be identified by those who could make my life difficult. But if I were, I would be sure I was untouchable."

"Well, he didn't get them all, right? They'll try again. Which means we know they'll come looking for us," said Virginia. "Clive, he was impersonating you. That's some high-level technology."

"I ain't seen nothing like it since," Gallows began, but he quietened.

"Since what?" said Jet.

"Yggdrasil." Clive pushed a shot glass aside. "Nanomachines, the generator. The tower itself. The Prophets had access to some truly frightening machines. It is altogether possible somebody accessed the Leyline Observatory and gained access to their research notes from the days of the Council. I would have said Yggdrasil itself, but…"

Gallows folded his arms and said, "Nidhogg."

"Precisely. Not many would come out alive. I would suggest we go to Leyline and hunt for clues. If we find nothing, we go to Yggdrasil. This affair is troubling. We cannot leave it to grow into something we are unable to control."

"And I thought I'd be able to retire by now."

"Yes," said Clive. "I'd hoped for that too."

"Poor old men," said Jet.

Gallows looked at him and said, "You're no spring chicken yourself."

"Well…" Virginia couldn't think of a plausible excuse to shirk from what she saw as duty. "The Guardians have helped us out. I think we should repay the favour. And if somebody is after them, then…"

"We deal," Jet said, and stood to go.

Myra watched them leave the tavern, saying nothing as she stood quietly on the landing. Jet looked at the bird perched on the roof of the nearby stables, and left the town quickly. He was still creating new memories but knew when something was wrong.

-o-

Leehalt entered to find the laboratory filthy and cold, the place having built up a layer of dust since their unfortunate 'absence'. He closed the door and ventured further and, hearing raised voices from the other room, frowned. They were ignoring their work again.

It was a large room with pictures in metal frames hung over the walls. The faces were all of a blonde woman with deep blue eyes, smiling, laughing, and trying to look serious. Several of them had smashed glass, shards on the floor and he looked at the handle. Malik had had one of his temper tantrums. A rare occurrence, but understandable.

The second room was similar, but lacked photographs. In the centre Malik was pacing, a bandage wrapped round his right foot and head. Melody was reaching for his hands, but he pushed her off and gripped his head. Leehalt had his back to the lab and all the time Malik failed to notice him. It was left to Melody to recognise his presence when she left the stool and waited for him to speak. Her movement brought Malik to a standstill, and he too looked in his direction.

"Where are the Mediums?"

"Ask Malik," said Melody.

Leehalt did as suggested. "Where are they?"

"They're all here," Malik said. "The ones that I was able to take before this beast took it upon herself to attack too soon."

"So you failed," Leehalt said quietly. "We survive or we die. I tell you this time and time again, yet the two of you argue rather than put our welfare above your petty childlike bickering. He," a finger pointed at Malik, "I expect this of. But you?"

Melody looked at Malik in his white-green robes and bowed her head obediently. But she said nothing.

"We should not be forced to survive as outcasts," Leehalt said. "We sacrificed our lives for this world, and it continues to be ungrateful. We were all deemed worthy to be transformed; a temporary measure. We overcame demons. We cheated the Guardians. Your behaviour is unacceptable."

"I don't care."

"You what?"

"I don't care! Melody said we died and you're acting like that isn't a problem. I fail to see how I am the only one at fault. I have supported you through everything. I think I'm deserving of a break."

"You're acting like a child," said Melody. "We've all suffered."

"So I'm selfish now?"

"Don't put words in her mouth."

"Well you have your precious Mediums," said Malik, fingers untying his headscarf, "so you'll excuse this hard-working yet selfish man if he decides to have a break. Fire tends to take it out of me."

"You're in no fit state to be going anywhere," said Leehalt.

"I would like to recuperate. I fail to see how I can with you yelling down one hole and Melody the other. Now, if you don't mind…"

Malik teleported whilst he was still able. The others stood quietly. Leehalt set his headdress on the console, touched it gently, looked at Melody and left.

"Shouldn't we go after him?" She'd caught up. "He could do anything in his current state of mind."

"We have no idea where Malik is," Leehalt said. "He's a child throwing his toys out the pram. His temper tantrum is nothing to worry about. However," and Leehalt paused, "what he knows is reason enough. Find him, but keep yourself out of sight. And Melody, be sure he says nothing untoward."

"And the Drifters?"

"Must not penetrate the Observatory."

"Understood. But how to do so without revealing our identity?"

"Misinformation." Leehalt walked to the elevator, pressing the button, waiting, clasping his hands. "In their need for knowledge, they will not find the truth. There shall be nothing but emptiness," he said walking in.

Melody was thoughtful. Then she said, "And you will handle these rumours?"

"Yes. Now go."

"It's just.."

"What?"

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"Then leave."

But she left before hearing his words. He took off in the elevator and stopped at the experimental floor, walked the short distance to Malik's laboratory and watched the smashed container without saying a word. It reached from floor to ceiling and the contents had long since vanished. It was unhealthy, sad. As soon as he was able, he would make Malik destroy every last vestige of this room.

-o-

Malik went to Little Twister. He'd had a wondrous sight: he had visited the beach to see the sandcraft, only to find them being broken for scrap; a vessel designed for sand could not function upon water.

When he had first seen it, Malik had thought he was dreaming, and he'd watched as the skies darkened and rain fell. Precipitation; it was process he could remember yet had no recollection of seeing. But with his freedom, Malik had to experience these new events himself. Standing barefoot in the grass, he wriggled his toes. It was cold, it was wet, and it was pleasing. But he needed money to enjoy himself thoroughly except he had to work for it, and he didn't want to. His hands were calm in removing currency from a befuddled owner. Coupled with Virginia it was enough. Then he went to the saloon, nearly inelegant with haste, and ordered a simple meal: wine with spit-roast.

But he thought about Leehalt, guessing and dreading, in the chair by the window facing the bar. The old lady he remembered back from when he'd been a child, though he'd forgotten her name. And her daughter had grown. Oh, Melody wouldn't be pleased! And how amusing it was that these meals were still no comparison to Mama's.

When morning came he would go home, but not before. He was going to enjoy this.

He thought of his final days and his meal began to cool. All he remembered was an explosion, heat, his eyes closing, awakening to see his clones, and Leehalt and Melody who had came first. His mind was fussy as he picked at his onions, a rare treat back in his day but common in this. It was sour and peppered while the layers were soft.

He left the meal behind and visited Mama's house, feeling the need for comfort. The windows were broken, which was his first warning. He unlocked the back door with a key he always kept on his person and wiped his feet on the step. A sweet musty smell told Malik the house wouldn't be as he'd left it. He had looked after it during the decade he, Leehalt and Melody had been restoring the Yggdrasil System and was now visiting it for the first time in as many years. The walls bore rust-coloured spots, an abandoned skin betrayed the presence of squatters (this made his heart thump with rage) and the pictures of himself and Mama had disappeared from the stone hearth.

He looked at the roach-infested walls and said, "No, this won't do at all. Damn those ingrates… There should still be some whiskey in the cellar. I'll take it back to Leehalt. Maybe then he'll forget to complain, as he's so fond of."

He went into the cellar and looked around for personal things: stored in wooden crates, untouched since he'd lost his mother. There had been seven boxes; her clothes, photographs, his collection of books, letters and cards. All deeply important to him, but to all else were a source of income. All but three had disappeared.

He carried one upstairs and wondered, "If we don't have to save the planet, then what's left? Mama, of course. but why fight for an existence where you cannot be true to your own identity? If all we want is to live, then how did we fail so abysmally? And my hands…"

Fingers were claws and skin was feather and bone. Virginia often preached about a Drifter's wings. He'd been able to fly, be stronger, faster, better, and yet Mama had…

What had she done? He couldn't remember.

"That is incorrect. Memories are data and I cannot grasp why I would abandon something so important."

This time, he thought what it was like to die. A clone was an empty vessel of flesh; its death had no meaning. Melody dwelt on hers but kept her feelings inside and Leehalt paid it no attention. All he looked to was the future, as did they. But how could they exist in a world when they were ghosts? The wisdom of Hyades was the word of God, and the demons who had left this knowledge had been defeated. And with the world healed, he had plenty of time on his hands.

And suddenly the world didn't seem as bright. The aroma of flowers failed to stir his mood and the sunlight left him downhearted when a moment ago it had soothed.

So what, exactly, were they fighting for? Their survival? That had been their goal previously, and what were they now? Ghosts like Werner. Oh, he'd enjoy throwing that at Leehalt.

"Mama always did like pie."

He sat on the bed and said the first thing he thought of, "I wonder if she'll like crab."

-o-

As the daylight faded, Virginia put her guns down and looked over the finest of the saloon's menu. She pulled up the chair, and Clive himself opened a bottle of gin, a scowl on his lips.

"This is certainly a problem," he said. "Information hasn't been forthcoming, but I would think a public attack upon a train would leave its traces." He poured them a drink, having thoughts of Kaitlyn's ordeal, and said, "It's like they don't exist."

He sipped the distilled spirit and thought about how best to safeguard Kaitlyn's future.

"Do you think the monsters have left the Leyline yet?" Virginia asked.

"Not fully, I think. But it's only a matter of time now the planet is healing itself. As for that man, I'm afraid of what he intends to accomplish. When Guardians are involved, the situation must be grim."

"Course," Gallows said. "But what's their motive?"

And Virginia thought of what that man had told her on the train, of his memories. He had commanded monsters. His manner, his words; his movements were all familiar. And Gallows had been fooled, just like…

"No, it can't be," she whispered. "They're all dead."

"You'd best say what's on your mind," said Clive.

"You'll think I'm mad," Virginia said, "and I wouldn't feel like this normally, but don't you find it strange? Gallows," she pointed him out, "fired his ARM, thinking this man and I were the same. There's only person I recall with such ability."

Gallows' feet were on the table. "And who'd that be?"

"Malik Benedict," she said. "It sounds stupid, I know. But surely you all remember Yggdrasil and Lunatic Garden? How we were fooled into shooting each other, thinking everyone else was a Prophet. And how else could that man look exactly like Clive? Hallucination! But…"

"He's dead," Gallows said.

Virginia nodded, and Clive gently rubbed the barrel of his rifle with a yellow cloth.

"Your theories aren't entirely without merit," he said after a moment, "but if these people acquired their old technology, then such things are accomplishable. But they were the only ones capable of utilizing it effectively. I fail to see how such knowledge could have become so widespread. Your father sealed the library at Mimir's Well. The facility itself was destroyed."

"I know. Daddy said it was to be our last memory together."

She stood up from the table, intending to head for the bar, but saw the door opening before she came close enough to order a carton of milk. The person arrived before she had a chance to see what was happening. A clumping of well-heeled shoes, and a lopsided smile framed by blond wisps of hair as the man filled the doorframe, and then he turned to face the party. All the Drifters had been thrown into panic, not only by the unexpected sighting but by the appearance of a man that had long been thought dead.

The Prophet remained still, discerning and watchful. He looked as if he were not a day over twenty-five, but he was. He wore a green jumper and slacks, and was no longer a demon. The bandages showed his injury. It had to have been twenty years, Virginia thought, and was he alone? Where one was had the others followed?

"Bloody hell!" said Gallows.

"You're alive," she whispered.

Virginia saw his movement but soon after the Prophet had bolted. Her friends were running on ahead; Clive stopped to see Virginia and said, "We can't let him get away. Gallows and Jet may be at a disadvantage. The trail should be fresh."

"Right, I'm there," said Virginia, who had been checking her ARMs.

So they chased.

But after leaving the saloon they found Malik to be as quick as ever, and he was nowhere in sight. Their gazes looked over the alleys and nearby office and the abandoned houses on the other end of the street. Jet and Gallows were in the middle of it, surveying the area. People were standing nearby.

"Malik hasn't teleported," Clive said finally. "There are too many witnesses."

"Then he's still here and watching what we do," said Virginia. "It feels strange to be chasing ghosts. I had enough of that with Daddy, and I'd hoped once our names were cleared this would all be over."

"Che," said Jet, unable to remain patient under such pressure. "I know the pale face is here somewhere. If I see him I'll kill him. Soon as I've got answers. And if he decides to act smart I'll do it all over again."

Virginia glanced with interest at a woman in the crowd, who watched the scene with apathy: it was an unexpected reaction.

"Interesting," said Clive. "If he is still here, he must be fooling our senses. We had better search for him; otherwise these people are in danger. I believe the term is 'trust no one' – his movements will give him away. People here remember their own. A stranger cannot fit so easily. And if Malik has returned from the dead, I doubt he's in a sound state of mind."

"That's no excuse," Virginia said angrily.

She glanced again at the woman, who was now focused on Clive Winslett. She felt uneasy at being in a situation where anybody could be Malik and thus her enemy. She wanted to trust her friends, and that was why she hated him so. Malik made her think they would stab her in the back, even if it was by his hand.

"You're amusing," said Malik's voice. "You still call him Daddy after all these years. I'm all for filial devotion, yet you say I need a spanking for it. How unfair of you, Drifter girl."

And Virginia and her companions turned to find a male brunette sitting on the roof of the saloon. He looked nothing like Malik, but was betrayed by that casual manner and mischievous smile. She knew it was him.

"Get down here," Gallows demanded.

"Why? The view is beautiful."

"You know why. We want to talk," said Virginia.

"Talk? There is nothing to talk about with people as ill-mannered as you. Now, you wouldn't want me to take _flight_, would you?"

"So you're still a…"

"How else could I get up here?" Malik knew he was lying, but was skilled in its use. "But were you to test such a theory, do you think this town would survive? I get quite hungry from time to time; in addition you disposed of my last meal. And I loathe talking about personal affairs, particularly with an audience."

"But you were…"

"I'm here now. And guess what? You'll have to deal with it."

Virginia closed her eyes, thoughtful of what could happen. But when she opened them Malik was gone. His message had been delivered and he'd vanished, just like the woman watching from the crowd. The townspeople were unaware of the danger he'd presented and were talking of names and rumour. Virginia looked out at the regrown wasteland; now they had to solve a mystery that could cost them their lives.


	4. At Laxisland

**Disclaimer**: Wild Arms 3 and associated characters are not mine.

-o-

Descending in the blue-glass elevator, Melody came to a stop at Yggdrasil's sixth floor. The switch that powered the hall had been activated before her coming, the glass poles and tiles glowing with fluorescent emerald light, and the metal walls were full of erosions and dents. It was testament to their failure and Leehalt's anger. She reached the living quarters and, eyes and ears alert, looked for any sign of Malik. She had returned first and told Leehalt everything, and soon as Malik appeared Leehalt had pulled him away and they'd not been seen since.

Melody entered the second set of rooms and pushed the glass-screened console with a delicate finger. The attention Malik had drawn had put them all in danger, so she understood Leehalt perfectly. Though she didn't always approve of his methods. But she had changed from the shy woman she had been and knew the power of strength.

"You were foolish," came Leehalt's voice. "Stupid, careless, irresponsible. Now Melody and I shall clean your mess, is that what you were hoping? Because you are wrong. You are unreliable, Malik. It was never like this when –"

"The Council of Seven?" Malik snapped back. "You know full well why I joined; to make use of your technology. Nothing more. I have never lied about my intentions – recreation of life. And you needed me. Nothing's going to happen."

But he was scared of Leehalt anyway, and the said man picked up a syringe third from the left and stared at it for a few seconds before returning it to the rightful place. Melody was right: Malik had surely changed.

"But what happened cannot be erased," he said. "We must adapt. Perhaps it shall be fortunate."

Standing away from the door, Melody looked around and pretended to be working on a console, then heard weighty footsteps followed by the clatter of fallen instruments. She was perfectly aware her presence had been noticed, and the lack of inane chatter told her Malik was having a temper tantrum. They were a rare event but not unheard of. His mood changed more than Leehalt's deepening hatred of Werner on a weekly basis. Love was the greatest passion of all. Love for one's family, desire for companionship, obsession over a significant other. She'd been insulted by Winslett's refusal of her beauty, but now she had had time to think: Clive's opinion did not matter. If he couldn't see her beauty, he was a fool.

Then Leehalt's voice said, "How long have you listened?"

It sounded displeased. As Leehalt liked his privacy, so too did he expect personal grievances. She thought for a moment.

"Long enough to understand," she said finally. "I had never expected to see the day when we would fight amongst ourselves. But I had always expected Malik to be the cause. He is rather immature."

"Well I am getting tired of it. Our problems now lie not with drifters but the Guardians."

"Quite. What is the plan?"

"People know us as the Council of Seven. Our identities are known as those who caused Yggdrasil to fault. We must abandon our pride."

"I see. And how long have you thought of this, sir? I would have thought neither of us wishes to pretend what we are not. But now they know what shall be the difference? If we are seen again, they shall know us for who we are."

"I would ask you why you saw not to stop Malik."

"I am not responsible for his actions."

"You are when they affect us."

Melody mumbled something and scratched behind her ear, Leehalt gazing into the other room with his eyes. Malik could do nothing but come out sheepishly as they turned to watch; he looked around, and then left. Melody's fingers were itching to coil round his throat but she would have to wait, or she would be the one to blame. Again. But she was learning to be patient, and that meant keeping her wits.

Leehalt had not planned for such an eventuality but found it easy to detail, and hoped Malik from this point would say nothing at all. Yet there was one thing he was troubled by; they could not access Hyades. The terminal at Mimir's Well had been destroyed, so now they acted on initiative. If that were the case, they truly were ghosts. Which meant Werner could...

"We must leave," said Leehalt.

"Leave?"

"They know we exist and where we live. We shall disable Yggdrasil until the time is right – they know not how to activate it."

Melody's expression was one of curiosity.

"Then where shall we live?" she said quietly. "We have not a Gella to our name."

"We have power. That is enough."

"Money buys you a home."

"Which we have," said Leehalt, walking across the room. He closed the door Malik had left open. "I was a famous inventor, as you know. The long-distance scope at Ballack Rise was my invention. People there mistakenly believe me to be some sort of hero."

"It's not unbelievable. But they would still know."

"Not if their minds were altered."

"You didn't have to. It's written on your face."

"The Dream Demons Siegfried mentioned live in the electronic plane. One came into all our minds and removed all instances of Yggdrasil, of the waters and the fields. That much I was able to gather before… The technology I developed was based on such information."

"And what you used to alter Malik?"

"The same."

"Would you hypothesise it's responsible for his changing behaviour?"

Leehalt sighed, frustrated and exhausted, and Melody watched him pace, the floor ground beneath his heels. She thought of saying what was on her mind but decided otherwise. Leehalt's anger was explosive, and he'd been tested enough for today.

"He has always been unstable," Leehalt said. "You know that."

"Pardon me, but that doesn't answer my question."

"Malik is predicable in emotion, erratic in deed. Nothing has changed."

Melody knew that they would leave Yggdrasil anyway and felt sad as it had been her home for a decade, and wondered whether a change in location would do them all good. Herself, Malik and Leehalt included. But where would they live? Leehalt came from Ballack Rise and had mentioned his telescope and reputation. But that place was so isolated, so boring.

"Perhaps," she said. "What's Ballack Rise like? I've never been."

"High. Very high."

By the tone of his voice, she guessed Leehalt was amused. Surely he wasn't pleased to be talking about his homeland. She crossed the floor and steadied her headscarf.

"I trust these clothes are out of order," she said. "Will you be paying for our new garments, too? Only, I thought you said money was of no consequence."

"Now you sound like Malik."

"I do not!"

"But you seek holes in everything I say. If we are to live our existence according to our desire, I call for total obedience. Malik proved he is capable of earning distrust. I hope you shall not do the same. I am loathe to think another shall rediscover their inner child. Now I'm reminded why I never became a doctor. All those snivelling children... Whining, complaining, unable to follow simple instructions." He looked directly at Melody. "Consider yourself lucky. Malik's failing wasn't enough to kill you."

"I understand. Shall I tell him?"

"He already knows, but since you insist."

"And the Drifters?"

With a slight jerk of the head and a touch of his nose, Leehalt came to a decision. When it came to certainty, the only thing he trusted was his own intellect. A child was incapable and Melody had proved she was ruled by emotion. She was loathe to admit it, of course, but he always saw the truth. As soon as the opportunity arose, Leehalt would find a way. The Drifters had shot them, mocked them and injured their pride. There were means to dealing with opposition besides death and war.

He coughed and fell stiff-kneed to the floor. Their bodies were the same as before, but they lacked Panakeia. And nanomachines. Yet their abilities remained. Perhaps a ghost's appearance was due to memory. His throat was bare and parched, and he kicked himself in the mind. It had been over ten years he'd passed over food. Panakeia had been all they needed, but now…

He refused Melody's offer of help and pulled himself off the floor.

"Werner's daughter," he said. "It has been too long."

-o-

The Leyline Obersatory had yielded only the same, and the Drifters had made for Yggdrasil. Much as she would have loved to spend time gazing over the ocean, Virginia was aware time was important; Malik was alive and they had no idea why. And in the past, he had always been followed by Melody and the vindictive Leehalt. So they had travelled through Nidhogg Pass, whose door remained open to this day, and found Yggdrasil empty.

Up and up through every floor they went, and the trees became miniscule and the lodge disappeared completely. And so they were now near Laxisland, but even if the Prophets had abandoned Yggdrasil they had to be someone. Nobody left home unless they had a place to return at the end of the day.

"So what do we do now?" Gallows said as they walked past tombstones and the ARMs store.

"Look elsewhere," said Jet.

But Clive interjected, "Yggdrasil was their home. We should have found evidence. The very lack of it means somebody has been inside. And with Mr. Benedict returned, then it can only mean."

"The others. I know, I know."

Keeping himself out of sight, Leehalt moved through the darkening square. Each drifter was armed and would be on alert; but his presence went unawares. Hearing footsteps, he kept out of sight. A silver-haired man passed his hiding place, followed by two men and the one he hated so much. Once they vanished, he hurried to the next available point and, with a quick look back, sneaked closer. Huddled in the corner were large boxes in rows of two by four. Another set stood upon the square's opposite side. He inhaled the smokey air and frowned; it was at times like these he missed his normal dress. The lab coat he took from Leyline had been absolutely disgusting. Of course, they had forced Malik to wash everything. But these Drifters had to say something.

They would; their arrival was the whole point of their journey. Yggdrasil had been inspected, just as he'd thought. So they'd been easy to trail after that. Only, Malik had come up with an idea he didn't quite appreciate…

Virginia moved to the saloon entrance and held open the door. Discussion. It would end their lack of information. But something in her stomach told her they were being watched.

"What's up with you?" Jet told her.

"Nothing. Just paranoia."

"We have reason to be afraid."

"I guess so, but we shouldn't have to be. This should have long been over."

As Virginia said that, Clive noticed that one of the natives was dressed rather peculiar. Black hair, waistcoat and glasses. An ARM was in a holster, but he couldn't tell its make from this far out. As the man looked at his pocket watch he pointed him out to Gallows, who shook his head. They thought it was Leehalt but decided otherwise; he was too youthful, much too tall, and his hair was parted all wrong. And the old man sure as hell hadn't any children. Gallows shuddered at the thought.

"Real men don't need fancy make-up and soap."

"So says one who looks like he's wearing lipstick," said Clive.

Jet walked into the saloon. Virginia looked at the clientele and saw an old red-cloaked Drifter with a cane. He was a long way from home, but they were not here to talk about Jolly Roger. She waved a hand and made her way over. Moving in a slight awkward gait, Jet made his way to the staircase to keep an eye open for any funny business. He looked thoroughly annoyed. He'd threatened Leehalt, rewritten his code, and the man had the nerve to live. How was he supposed to deal with him now? All the memories on Filgaia were meaningless if they were turned on their head.

"Do you have it?" Virginia asked.

The old man finished his drink, and handed over a brown paper envelope.

She thanked him again.

"Don't know why you're after it, mind. The Council of Seven'll be long gone."

"Curiosity," Jet said.

He wandered over to where the two were talking, snatching the envelope before Virginia could open it, and checked it over for safety. He was aware what they were getting into and wanted it to pass by. None of his friends must be hurt.

"Well that information's fresh from the archives near Westwood," the red drifter said. "Ain't easy to change what's been written."

"I guess," said Jet, and he headed out to Clive and Gallows.

Apologetic, but needing to move, Virginia handed over his fee and left.

"So what's inside?" Gallows said. His hands were moving closer, but Jet moved the parcel out of the way. He handed it to Virginia, who looked over the square.

"Let's go somewhere safe," she said.

Clive saw the odd man in the background, talking to the Smith's employee.

"That would be wise," he said. "This is sensitive information."

Gallows crossed his arms. "Course it is."

"And you got an idea?" said Jet.

They uncrossed. "Absolutely. We shoot their damn heads off."

"If we shoot, we don't understand their motive. If we know their reasoning, we predict their actions. It's relatively simple."

"Clive's calling you thick."

"Aw shut up."

Because Virginia was needing to read, she couldn't just wait till they reached safe land, just the space behind the ARMs store; all quiet and dark. She unsealed the envelope and said, "Let's see where they are."

The two men stopped talking, and one entered the store. The second thought for a while, then moved the same way, in the same way that one would find a corner in which to overhear. He heard a scrape of papers and turned from the toilet window.

"What's Malik's say?" said Gallows.

"Born in Little Twister."

"Ha! That explains it all," said Jet.

"Lost his mother at the age of sixteen. Father died in mysterious circumstances."

"With him involved they won't be so mysterious," Gallows said.

"Was invited to join the Council of Seven by the suggestion of… one Leehalt Alcaste. So things thicken."

Clive was thinking.

"Little Twister," he said after a moment. "I doubt he lives there still. Mostly it's been abandoned. I doubt any of the three could tolerate such an environment, even if they are outlaws. It's too in the open."

"Melody then."

Virginia felt there was more to the matter than dates and locations, but there was nothing else they could go on. What the three had planned was anyone's guess, but their Mediums were giving off all different reactions. Anger, fear, thoughtfulness, pity. If the Guardians were truly under threat, they would surely all give off stronger emotion. She reached inside the envelope for Melody's file.

"Melody Vilente. Born in Humphrey's Peak but moved to the nearby mining town. I remember going there and didn't see anything out of the ordinary, though it's a possibility. Don't you think Leehalt would say where they go, being their leader? Besides, he's got to be angry about Malik. I doubt he'd let them do as they please."

Clive looked from the alley at the bar. The drunks were beginning to stumble out.

"And Leehalt was born in Ballack Rise. Lived there most of his life, till he was asked to join the Council. Clean record, too. It all makes sense. Ballack's pretty isolated."

"Away from prying eyes. Hard to reach. He'd go to the place he knows best," Clive said.

"It's a possibility," said Jet. "I always wondered who made all that stuff in Ballack. Guess now we know."

"But how shall we get there without Lombardia?" said Virginia.

"Pray."

Jet scowled. "Been at the drink again, have you?"

"No. Well, not too much. Just this."

"A likely story."

"Ballack Rise communicates with the outside through the use of messenger birds," said Clive. "Their technology is advanced, as they need to be able to survive at such a high altitude. It's possible to walk there, but such a journey would take days. That's not including the time taken to reach the mountain itself."

"But we can get there, right?" said Gallows. "It isn't impossible to scale a hill. How hard could it be?"

"Only that it's thousands of feet tall."

Hearing that, Gallows had a pallor brought to his face.

Virginia returned the documents to the envelope and licked the seal before thumping it shut. It'd take months, and the Prophets could teleport at any time of choosing.

"We have no other choice," she said. "We're climbing that mountain, and I don't want to hear one of your complain. We've been inside a volcano, a floating city, ran from detonating bombs. A mountain is something easy."

"The climate is temperate, hot during summer. Makes me wonder why Leehalt's so pale, but I guess he never spent time outside," mused Clive. "If you want, I can make preparations. It'll make the journey a little easier. Plus our money will go a long way to making it simple."

"That'll be fine." Virginia clapped her hands. "It's been ten years, but I think I can handle it."

"You'll be fine," said Jet. "You're not fat."

Leehalt had had enough. He turned round, and almost banged into Malik, whose clothes were now slacks and a brown shirt. His eyes closed and his lip remained tightly shut. Outside, footsteps were moving away.

"Well?" the blond said, and he seemed innocently unaware of their location. "Do you know where they're headed?"

"Did you follow your father to the toilet," Leehalt's voice was rising. "Or is it habit?"

"Neither. I'm curious. Oh look, your moisturiser's… I didn't know it could _do_ that."

Leehalt gave him a stare.

"Shut up and get this nonsense off my face."


	5. Ballack Sunrise

**Disclaimer**: Wild Arms 3 and all associated characters are not mine.

-o-

In the following weeks, they travelled south from Laxisland and the ruins of Fila Del Fia, and then stopped for the night before the long sloping knoll to Ballack Rise. With Clive checking his gun and Gallows booking rooms for the night, with Jet choosing to remain lookout, Virginia found herself looking at the imposing climb.

"If we fought so hard, why's everything falling apart?" she said.

The meaning couldn't be more obscure. The thought of her father and companions, the last of which had been at her side till the end, and their work was something she had taken it upon herself to bear. Their names were still dirty in some parts, though Humphrey's Peak was always a welcome return home for Clive, where his teenage daughter was now a handful. However, thoughts of her own years brought to mind something else.

"It is my assumption Werner would not be disappointed," Clive said, standing nearby. "But I also believe he couldn't be disappointed in you. I'm a father; I know how he would feel. I wouldn't have thought he'd want you to be so forlorn. Are you thinking about the Prophets?"

"Not quite. I'm getting older, Clive. I haven't settled. If I die, who'll inherit my guns?" She raised them and put them back. "Daddy taught me everything about surviving in the wasteland. If I die alone, then nobody will learn what he taught. And with the Prophets, if things change without end, what's the point in fighting?"

Clive reached for his chin but was silent. Virginia knew he would worry, but they were friends; it was to be expected. But even she needed time to think, to wonder. Her thoughts were grave, the consequences dire, the words troubled and the meaning perilous; it troubled Clive to see her like this, but she understood him well: he knew she would have faith and hope, because without them there was no point in living for tomorrow. A train was coming down the slope, on metal tracks, and Gallows and Clive headed for the station, beckoning her along, picking up the tools. She still had her crests after these years, and the paper had not a tear or stain.

"There's no point worrying," said Jet, who'd come up last.

"I know," Virginia said and, remembering the moments she'd spent with Werner, added, "That's one of the things Daddy told me: always look for the best. Even the hardest of times won't seem so bad."

Jet nodded. "And you think that's true?"

"Of course. If we hadn't had hope, we'd not have beaten Beatrice, the Prophets, or Siegfried."

The breeze flew by, for the first time in a moment, though Jet looked thoroughly uncomfortable. It took a while for him to speak:

"I'd have said hope was useless. But if one of the Guardian Lords is its embodiment, then…"

He was staring at the heavens, and he walked forward and looked over his shoulder. His eyes were warm and hopeful. It was a side not many saw.

"It doesn't matter. We need to find out their business. Whatever they're planning, we must find out and stop it. But something worries me. They're dead. You saw… well, what happened to Leehalt. They should not have survived."

Thoughtful of Virginia's turmoil and what the Prophets represented, Jet chewed with distaste and spat out on the porch.

"Perhaps they didn't."

"Are you saying they're ghosts? I don't get it, though."

They began walking. Far as she was concerned, Virginia wanted to put the matter aside and deal with the problem at hand, until she became aware Jet was watching her. She carried on, but he said, "Your father was a ghost; even if he was summoned by the technology of Hyades, you called him father. Yet the Werner we both knew died in that explosion."

"I remember he used to place flowers on mother's grave. Do you?" Then she paused. "Jet, I'm sorry. You must miss him too."

She picked up his luggage and walked ahead. Jet caught up. Then he took both of his bags from her and kept up the pace.

"Virginia, what do you think would be the best thing to do in his memory?"

"Defeat the Prophets."

She saw he was confused, and said, "He sought to give this planet life. I'll prevent those who seek to take it away."

"What if they're after something different?"

"Then we ask," she said quietly. "But if their intentions were noble, they'd not have taken the Mediums. I just don't feel like they can be trusted. And why did they come here? What's keeping them from moving on? If they are ghosts, then…"

"I thought that after what they did you wouldn't care."

At the station, they saw Gallows holding open the carriage door. Clive was sitting in a compartment to his left, and Virginia waited till they were on and beyond earshot before finishing what she had to say:

"I do, but it's not simple."

"Things never are. Want a drink?"

"Sure."

-o-

It was only up at Ballack Rise that the Prophets knew how they were feeling, and having made it back from death how they would act. And Malik, quickly bored having explored everything the hilltop town had to offer, considered Leehalt's warning; and then he was warm and giddy, because doing something forbidden was enjoyable. It would provoke a reaction, and he loved attention above all.

And whichever attention was diverted from Melody, favourable or bad, times were good. He would bring Mama to this otherworldly place. He'd add it to the list, after Lunatic Garden, the Flower Garden and Claibourne. The altitude made the air thin, so perhaps she'd need to recover before making the climb. He could teleport (though knew not why with the Panakeia gone) and she couldn't. So they'd ride the train, and he'd order some ice-cream and toast and sugar and marmalade. The further from Little Twister the better, because such a place was undeserving of such beauty and spoilt whatever it touched. He didn't want to think of Mama coming from such a place.

He thought of digging through Leehalt's collection of newspapers, just to see what the old man liked, but it was so early and Melody was sleeping at the desk. Instead he went to the living room, one of three in the house, and tried to put thoughts of revival into action. Eighty minutes later he was basking across a leather chair, which Leehalt had cleaned, with his feet leaving scuff-marks on the arms. His eyes were looking at the shelves, the research, the newspapers; the little pieces of metal and tools that showed the home of a creator. His arms were backing up his head, and he stared at the charred, rusted saw with mull pleasure till his stomach rumbled.

He cooked gammon and came back.

He took the same position. The chair was comfortable and soft. What more could he want?

What in the world could they do?

He corrected that: what would Leehalt do? He grumbled, and looked around for a fork. There it was, back on the table in the kitchen. But he was hungry and tired and lazy. So he had a secondary plan: he put the plate on his lap and took out a bag of chocolate éclairs, each in its own golden wrapper, and ate whilst chucking away the wrapping. He knew Leehalt would be mad. But he'd tidy up later. There was no reason for the man to be overworked. He'd clean up, when ready of course.

Feeling pins and needles, he turned. There was a crash.

"Oh bugger." He went silent. "Mama taught me not to swear. I mustn't swear."

Then a voice said, "Swear for what, exactly?"

Leehalt was in the doorway. His eyes, bloodshot as they were, were aware and irate. Malik, covered as he was in bacon fat, ketchup and stains, only made things worse by flicking a candy wrapper off his knee to the floor. Malik thought of how to change the subject. It was something he did. Next door, Melody was asleep. The sunlight was just beginning to rise. The other townspeople had gone to work, or were cooking, or asleep like his companion.

"Food gremlins," said Malik, matter-of-factly.

The two watched each other.

"Food gremlins," Leehalt said.

Malik clapped.

"Precisely."

"Stuff and nonsense."

"How so?"

"The Hobgoblin is foreign to this part of Filgaia."

"Hobgoblin?" said Malik curiously. "But I said food gremlin. The two are totally different species. And by refuting their existence, you come under the ancient curse known as -"

"Do it yourself. And for heaven's sake, sit with decorum."

It wasn't the first time in his life Leehalt had tossed him a rag, and Malik yawned. He was neat in his own house, but unclean in others. He looked at the house, at its unclean layer of filth and grime, of old metal and carving tools and plans, and realised how much and yet how little of Leehalt was in this place. The possessions were his, and the closed curtains and lack of light, but the filth was something he'd never seen before. But the place was old, uninhabited like his own. Their work had kept them busy.

"Too coward to work?" said Leehalt.

"Not at all. I'm thinking."

"About how to escape your chores?"

Malik came up with a quick reply.

"Chores are bores. Work is passion. My time is important, and so I must regretfully decline."

"No."

"And how goes your duty? Are the townspeople all doped up and happy yet? To tell you the truth, sir, I wouldn't mind some of what they're having. It'll make the day go a little faster."

Leehalt said: "You'd regret those words."

"And how'd you administer it? Did you break into their homes and shoot them in the arm?" Malik said curiously. "Or did you set up a clinic? But if you had, I'd have heard. So come on. Do tell. You know it'll remain our little secret."

"Malik, if I told you it'd be out past Boot Hill come the morning."

"But it is morning."

"Malik," Leehalt was smiling, "You forget your place."

Malik weighed up the options and said, "Sorry. I'll clean up now."

Melody listened to them, calculating. She disliked being in the middle. It made things difficult, complicated. Malik would ask her questions, she'd tell Leehalt and be told to keep her mouth shut. Their leader had never been one for social interaction, whereas she wasn't but craved it. And Malik kept getting in her way. But in the end, they were all she had left. Her family were alive but she didn't want to worry them with thoughts of what she'd done. It had been for the best. But were they to know, she didn't think they'd understand.

-o-

The following ten hours saw a long climb up the mountainside, made hazardous by the bracken and tumbles that drifted onto the tracks; seven times they stopped to collect them to safety. Gallows said they should be more careful, because if the Prophets were here they'd be weary, and were they weary people were at risk. Virginia agreed, and energised by the thought of conclusion longed for the train to reach its end. Their ARMs were primed and upgraded, Clive seemed especially pleased. Jet had said little. Gallows was in thought over the Mediums and she wanted to know just what the Prophets were scheming.

She viewed their situation, dealing with the dead and the insane, as necessary. The Prophets had been the most terrifying of their enemies, on a personal level. Beatrice and Siegfried were demons, but Malik, Melody and Leehalt had cast away their humanity, their birthright, to destroy the world they had sought to save. If they were demons still then they were all at risk. But had Malik lied? When the Mediums had reacted, it had not been as it had with the appearance of the Dark Spear, Siegfried or the Prophet's own forms. Virginia wasn't going to be fooled again.

At the top, the walk to Ballack Rise was calm and event-free.

They had to breathe more deeply. Inside the grocery store and the upstairs bar, where the smell of powdered antidote told of makeshift cures, there was excited chatter: excited rumours of Ballack Rise being on the global stage, of investment and fame. But the atmosphere was different. There were no memories of sudden arrivals, but they mentioned Leehalt. They mentioned him too fondly. And with the present tense. Virginia had the sense he was here, in this town. But where? By the telescope? The people were saying he invented it, that he had come back after years in the wilderness; she wondered what had become of Malik and Melody and waited for Gallows by the cellar door.

"It's freaky," he said. "They're talking about him like he's some sort of saint. Saying he worked for the council and all. I don't get it. When I go home, people say things about me. But they're not nice about it. Especially Granny. Makes me wonder what's up, you know? Ain't normal for people to be so happy. But if he's some sort of celebrity."

"It's troublesome. We won't be able to act as freely."

"I want to, mind. Damn man deserves a good punching."

Gallows kicked his right foot, and folded his arms before leaning on the stairwell. It was fortunate they knew the store owner; they'd not have a place to meet, otherwise.

"And even he's happy," Virginia said. "It doesn't seem natural."

"Makes me wonder what they're up to."

And they couldn't talk no more till they went to find Jet and Clive. The latter was stood on the platform where he'd fought the Goldrake. The former was outside the store; his red scarf had been rewoven, and now covered his shoulders, and a brush was clasped in his right hand. She stood watching till he noticed her and came over, looking irate. He shoved the brush down inside his back pocket and said nothing that would incriminate him further. Now Virginia had the lead but wouldn't pursue it.

"What do you want to do next?" said Clive.

"We can't just walk about; they'll want to know why."

Jet waited for silence, and said:

"We should split. We'll find more answers that way and we'll cover more ground. They're talking about him like he's still alive, so he has to be here somewhere; if I find them, I'll give you a shout. And if you ask right, the town'll tell you all to know. Since they seem to think he's some sort of God," here, Jet snorted, "But if they knew the truth…" He waited as a man and daughter walked by. "I don't know how he's done it, but if something happens we'll be kicked in the teeth, again. They'd obviously choose his side over ours. Though it would help if the scholar here got his nose out some books and used his rep."

Virginia closed her eyes and tried to remember. Clive had mentioned the story of how he'd ended on the train guarding the Ark Sceptre, but it had been so long ago she'd forgot the details. Not only that but he was so gentle-mannered that they nodded at whatever he had to say and moved on. That was what she'd thought, then they'd encountered Melody at Yggdrasil and they'd seen a side to him they'd not found before. Even Jet had been taken aback. And now Clive was talking:

"I'm a drifting archaeologist, not a scholar," he said, "but you're right. I'll go see what I can do. May I suggest we meet back here in an hour?"

-o-

Clive checked that the time was right, and when the town's clock coincided with his pocket watch he frowned, and waited for a further five minutes before heading into the bar. He walked heavy-footed across the entrance and up the stairs, into their room and back down, went back out and seeing nobody made his way back inside.

It was strange. He would not have said untoward, but with their enemies one could not be caught unawares; their minds were wicked and their words deceitful. Their actions had proved their intent. What he needed was a good strong drink. All things were good in moderation, and he needed his wits. And since the wait had been long enough he headed over; they'd come inside sooner or later.

"Hey," said the barkeep. "Someone left you a message."

"Thank you," Clive said, taking the paper. "Did you see who it was?"

"Yea. Some girl in a purple dress with a plait."

He considered the validity of such a claim; it certainly sounded like Virginia, but leaving notes like this was something she'd not do. She always made the effort to talk in person. He ran a hand through his hair. So if she hadn't sent this note, it had to be the Prophets. But Leehalt wouldn't be caught in a dress. Malik might, but he was odd so the only one left was Melody. Inhabiting a body was her style. Despicable. He crunched the note up and stashed it inside his coat.

-o-

"I was given this earlier." Clive opened his hand and showed the note.

Gallows took it, read briefly, and said, "I bet it's them. Low-down dirty… seems like their style. They never were much for substance."

"Clive, where did you say you got this?"

"Off the bartender. He said it was given by a woman fitting your description. But since you know nothing of it…"

They went quiet. The note was obvious: lure each into the open and eliminate singularly. The Prophets were getting restless. Clive's mind was tired, and thoughtful and angry and dazed, and he was itching to take his rifle and find the three. They had to be stopped because any more damage was unacceptable. And if Malik was back, and Leehalt was back, then Melody was surely with them; a woman who poured too much attention on the outside of her body instead of her soul. Virginia had kept quiet, and though she had grown as a woman and a leader he didn't want to put his companions in danger. He stepped forward, when Jet crumpled it:

"You're not going through with it, are you?" he said.

Clive shook his head.

"Absolutely not. They want to take us apart individually."

As soon as he'd finished, Gallows punched the wall.

"I should have known they'd do this! The Mediums…"

"Will be saved if we remain calm."

"Clive's right. We should…"

Virginia fell quiet. She reached for her pocket and said, "Did you guys feel it?"

Clive pulled out Moor Gault's:

"I would have to say yes."

His palm rested on the surface, which was now dull silver, and thought aloud, "Their lustre has vanished. They must have done something to the Mediums of the Guardian Lords."

"Do you guys think that's what they're after? The Guardian Lords. But we've got two here: as long as we have 'em they'll come after us. We should use it to our advantage." Gallows was staring out the window of their private room. "They're in this town somewhere. They want to meet with us. Let's give them what they want."

"You…"

"Jet, Jet, Jet. I never said we'd play fair."

"But they're not stupid."

"Clive, do you think we'd have a decent range from here?"

"Yes, but they would know that also."

"And when's the meeting again?"

Clive thought carefully.

"Ten-thirty, atop the platform," he said. "So it'll be hard to get the drop. Even if we provide some cover, they'll know it to be a sham," he took a seat, "but we know their tricks. If we prearrange things between us, they won't fool us as easily."

"A secret code?" Virginia cocked her head. "Like where we'll be and that?"

"Yes. But I cannot go in alone: I'd be outnumbered."

"Is there any other way to see?"

"Not that I can think of. One could say they have home advantage."

"I like to think we'd do better than that." Gallows, changing the subject, opened the window; the air was warm. "When I find that sallow-faced…"

"Save it for later," said Virginia.

"So what's the plan?" asked Jet.

"You'll all wait at the bottom. The nearby bar and its alley are filled with crates naturally. There's plenty of darkness for hiding. If you hear anything, come up. There isn't a way round the back, so if we can make one and hide them from its presence..."

"We'll get the drop on the buggers," Gallows said.

Jet scowled:

"You put it so eloquently. We can't lose."


	6. Confrontation

**Disclaimer**: Wild Arms 3 and all associated characters are not mine.

-o-

Standing on the wide-open platform, Leehalt watched the bar and waited for the drifter to arrive. He was thoughtful: Malik was gone. He was suspicious and doubted the girl and her party would keep their word; he certainly wouldn't. A dead enemy was preferable to a live one. Knowing their positions, he walked to the platform's edge. His throat was still dry: he felt in need of Panakeia, but knew it was unnecessary. This was ironic. Werner. They were exactly the same. Solid, breathing ghosts. And Melody seemed disturbed by that. But he refused to care; they had fought for their lives, change. When offered it, what fool would refuse?

There was the sound of footsteps. A green head of hair appeared, followed by a tall man carrying a sniper rifle. He reaffixed his tie and said:

"Punctual to a fault. How effective."

-o-

The bartender cleaned out the shotglass, passed by two drifters, a man and woman, as he moved round the counter to collect the empties. They went upstairs. Clive was out there, Virginia thought, facing a scientist who lacked a stable conscience. One who by rights should have been dead. Gallows went to the window, the platform in sight, and, lifting the curtain with a finger, kept to the edge. Clive had gone. Jet had called them up immediatly: he'd fought against his heritage for most of his years and now that he'd accepted it, and what it stood for, he found his pride being injured. The Prophets had killed living beings. Stare Roe, Celesdue, those clones of that freaky mummy's boy. He should have known the pretty one was a pervert.

But now they were endangered, he always reminded himself of how far he had come. He lowered the curtain and cracked his knuckles; he wanted to paste them, make them pay, but needed his wits. And, truthfully, wanted answers. The dead didn't come back. Ever.

"You are not alive!" came Clive's voice. "You are all nothing but ghosts! Parasites!"

"I ain't rarely heard him that mad," said Gallows, and he looked at the door on his left. Times were getting uncertain, and he felt uncomfortable, "Shouldn't we be out there? Or ain't it time yet?"

There was a gunshot.

"Quick! Outside," said Virginia.

Jet had already opened the door.

Leaving the bedroom, Gallows looked up then made a decision. He'd scale the back, get the jump on the Prophets. Maybe even give them something a little extra.

"I'm going this way," he mouthed, showing his Freezer doll.

Virginia remembered the plan, nodded, and ran with Jet to the stairs. Gallow's face had turned into a frown but recovered when he paced round the back; he climbed the crates and hauled himself to the top with little effort.

The platform was in shadow, and he waited; he kept to the plan, watching for the blond and that woman with the personality of a viper. It was quiet, and Leehalt was now facing Clive, Jet and Ginny. They would deal with the three, of course; but Clive was right. They needed answers. He wasn't foolish and recognised the old phrase 'know the enemy'. His companions were in their normal clothes. But that man… it was like seeing that photo. Rigid posture, white coat, slacks. It was remarkable how with one simple change the senses, sight, touch, feelings that gave him his warnings, could be altered. Not with fear (for that was present, with hate), but actual memory. And they were important things, memories. Though he supposed the old buzzard couldn't go round in his usual get-up.

Gallows knew they'd get more questions than answers. He was sure the old man was plotting something: he trusted their word like he trusted Little Twister's loo paper. It was safer to use a newspaper than wipe your bum with whatever the hell it was they used. But they knew this. The first thing Virginia had said was to be sly, or they'd get nothing at all. Patience before squeezing the trigger. Then they'd do the double-cross. But if Leehalt hadn't brought the Mediums, and they thought this likely, they'd try and talk him into the truth; Clive wouldn't have to shoot and waste his bullets. And perhaps they'd get some leads. Not that they trusted any of them, of course. Truthfully, it were better they remained dead.

Leehalt was standing. Unwounded.

"That make is accurate to a millimetre," he said, and his hand touched his abdomen. "But fear. No one can conquer it. You fear what I do, what I have done. Advisable. Nobody likes pain."

Gallows understood the meaning. There was one thing about Leehalt that made him tricky; that damn mirror that reflected every shot, every spell. And the pain was always equal. To shoot him was to shoot yourself. He raised his doll. Sometimes he had to be a little bit cleverer, smarter. He'd thought of this himself, but was unsure how the doll would work on humans. If they were still that. They looked it, but… horns, tails, feathers. Memories were still fresh. And Gallows was angry; he'd seen enough violation of the Guardians to permit them any right to talk at all.

Leehalt had only begun to raise his left hand when there was a frosty beam. His feet and calves were encased in ice, his mobility rooted to the spot; nobody would be running away now. That teleportation spell was a problem, though. And as Virginia aimed her guns, Leehalt took out his own and shot it without delay. But, unlike Werner, he wasn't familiar with their use. Jet's bullets tore through his skin and bone and there was a loud cry as it dropped to the floor.

The apprehension came from nowhere and reflected in Jet's own, his gritted teeth and clutching of the hand showing the pain he was in. Virginia gave him a look of concern, said something to Clive, and walked across the platform with guns drawn. Gallows thought how quiet it was. There had been gunshots. Ballack was a quiet place, but he had expected someone to come and investigate. That itself was suspicious and sent his opinion of Leehalt to a new low. He didn't even care for his home. He climbed onto the platform.

"Give them back," he said; the doll was cold in his hand.

Leehalt was looking at Virginia.

"Speak to me!"

"Speak to her," Leehalt replied.

He was pulled out the ice and thrown forward, hitting the wood. Four guns clicked. All pointed at his head.

"And what do you mean by that?" said Jet.

Leehalt was the only one capable of giving the answer, and he wouldn't. He knew he had power, and none of them would shoot till they had taken it from him. Their behaviour was appalling. And foolish. And it was all their fault. Had they never wondered why ghosts remained on the earth? Vengeance, he thought, it was a pure driving force; the face of Virginia was that of her mother. But she was nowhere near as beautiful. And Werner had stolen her, married her, and they'd laughed at his misfortune. They, Werner and his daughter, had insulted his feelings. But Virginia's life meant nothing. She had saved the world. That didn't mean he had to like her.

"Have you never wondered?" he said.

"Yes, but we doubt you'll give us a straight answer," said Clive. "You never treated us with much respect in the past."

Gallows lowered his gun, grabbed Leehalt, and tossed him to Clive, who held him down as his clothes were searched.

"Get your hands off me, Baskar."

"Shut up! Give them over before I damn kill you." Gallow's gun clicked. "I haven't forgotten what you did. Ain't nothing like killing a ghost. Care to be the first?"

"Kill me and you never get them back." Leehalt didn't smile. "And have you wondered why I'm alone? Why you so easily got the best of me?"

"It's because you're a twit."

"Dynamite. Three hundred pounds of heavenly joy. Survival is minimal."

There was silence. Virginia looked at the houses, with people resting in their beds. Clive shook his head, and said, "Amazing. And I would have thought you'd be content with your second chance at life. You're obviously not as clever as you seem."

The situation wasn't good; they had something greater than a problem. Catastrophe. Murder. Hostages. Virginia felt her heart tighten within her chest. She'd not tolerate it anymore. She didn't want to. Patience was a precious thing, her father had said. But they were murderers: she'd not be caught dealing with their kind. The only thing that kept her in check was the dynamite. And the fact she was a human. These people obviously didn't care at all.

And she put a gun back in its holster. Her hand was balling into a fist.

She was beaten. Clive landed a powerful blow with the butt-end of his rifle.

Leehalt was knocked back into Gallows, who aimed his gun at the man's temple with one hand and twisted Leehalt's arm round his back with the other. The Prophet didn't know if he'd be willing to shoot. Gallows didn't know himself. But they'd pulled enough trash to deserve it. What surprised him was Clive. The only memory of him assaulting someone was the time… he couldn't even remember such an incident. The man sure knew how to keep his temper in check; even Jet had been taken aback. Not that he'd showed it or anything.

"Where is the device?" Clive demanded to know.

"I don't carry it," Leehalt said. "Malik does."

Was it true, or was Leehalt being deceitful? Gallows presumed neither, but chose to err on the side of caution. He wanted to deal with the Prophet once and for all but cared for people more. Scum wasn't worth it. The thought of Malik with a triggering device was bone-chilling. Leehalt knew this, and it had to be the reason he'd told them who had it at all. Or he was lying again. But the most frightening lie came when it was true. Virginia's heartbeat quickened. Leehalt had made her afraid. And she'd tried to get this right. But he had done something unforgivable. He obviously didn't seek redemption at all. A man who did wrong could still change his life. She had hope, after all. And now she wished she didn't.

Because Malik was slippery.

And insane. Another scientist without a conscience. He'd push it without remorse.

Jet frowned, but said nothing. He obviously wanted to keep watch over the situation, so she took the lead.

"Get him here right now," she said, striding over. "Don't you care about anyone but yourself? Everyone here thought the world of you."

Leehalt was silent. He then closed his eyes, instead of breaking into laughter.

"Even you, it seems," he said. "I've been thinking."

"Like you've got anything nice to say," commented Jet.

"Ghosts cannot exist, except in the mind." And he smiled in a way that showed Virginia his pure malice. "The Afterlife is… a horizon of memory: recollection, thought, feeling. Mine as valid as the next man's. And you used it to restore this world. I know, Maxwell. In that point where all consciousness becomes as one your memories changed the world. Do you not remember? You and that sample-"

Jet glared. Leehalt continued his attack.

"One cannot pick and choose their memories. Some part of the mind is always thinking. If I die, will Malik remember me? And like your father, your honesty is sickening. If it's truth you want, then..." He stopped. Virginia didn't like what was coming. "I was dead, and suddenly it seemed lighter. Then I found myself here, upon this new world." His eyes drifted, checking the location of their guns. Cutting off his escape meant his weapon was his intellect, and his words. And for her, he had four: "You are the cause."

-o-

The past three hours had seen Malik take a walk up the mountainside, followed much to his annoyance (not that he showed any) by that erstwhile beast, Melody; seventeen times he'd heard her moan. Melody replied she hadn't. And besides, Malik was the one who liked to walk barefoot, with nothing but those bandages on his feet. At least she had the sense to wear something to protect herself. Then again, Malik never cared for his life compared to his Mama's, only the fear of dying. They argued, and Malik had tried to press her for information as to their origins. Leehalt had said they were ghosts, but he didn't believe it. Not anymore. Their memories were intact. His seemed relatively empty.

He viewed their lies, their movements, with disdain. But he respected his colleagues and wanted to give them the chance to explain themselves. He was a patient man, used to dealing with the dead, who had all the time in the world. The drifters had been enemies, on an intellectual and personal level. That girl had lost her father, he'd thought another child would understand his pain, but she didn't. She said what he did was wrong; the Baskar even claimed he was sick. But Malik was perfectly healthy. He'd certified it. But that one part was missing, and it was important. Had he done something? Why else would Leehalt, an unrelenting man, be so afraid. He acted curt, but to not talk about the truth meant he hid it for a reason. Malik wanted his memories. Melody wanted to know the meaning of their existance so she felt like a complete person. He had awoken to find Mama had gone. She'd left her room, and everything had been destroyed.

And he wanted to know why.

So he carried on, pretending as always to be someone he wasn't. He'd thought of taking the final step, to threaten their lives, but Mama wouldn't want him to and they were, had been, friends and colleagues: he'd been excited when asked to join the Council of Seven. They were all he had left. But now the atmosphere was different. There were no more friends, and the joy he felt in his work had gone. Now he just wanted his Mama. And Leehalt called him foolish. He claimed he didn't understand love. That to love someone meant you let them go. But he never gave up Ekatrina. So why? Why the hypocrisy and the lies? He was beginning to suspect they were in on it, that something had happened between his passing (of that he was certain) and eventual rebirth; he wondered what truths Leehalt could be tricked to tell when Melody grabbed him.

"I'm bored," he said, taking her hand and dropping it. "He's down there acting like he doesn't need us. Dealing with that girl… To do so alone is foolishness. Do you think he knows what he's doing?"

"They won't shoot him. We have the advantage because we are willing to kill."

"We preserve life. Our mission is not to destroy it."

Melody looked down at the town, and folded her arms before thinking of Clive Winslett. She had been a doctor, sworn to an oath never to take the life of a fellow human. But would she save him were he near death? Hardly.

"We kill to survive," she said. "Them or us, Malik. I'm beginning to wonder whose side you're on."

"Ours, of course."

"Yes." Malik thought Melody, like Leehalt, had an inability to smile "But your sense of humour needs some work."

He shrugged. "I'll try harder."

-o-

Clive checked what he heard was right, and when he discovered it was he felt a heavy blow, because he knew Virginia would never have willed it, and he considered swiftly whether Leehalt was lying. He knew the effective way to insult someone was to attack their friends, family, what they do. Virginia was older, wiser, but still had the idealism that reminded him of how he felt about his daughter.

It was frightening. He had asked about what had happened to change their world, going by what Virginia had told them, but she didn't like to go into details. As a scholar, he wanted to know more. But with it being the last time she saw her father he didn't want to ruin such a moment; she would talk when ready. And Leehalt had forced it out of her. It was inconsiderate, full of spite. All things considered, being dead hadn't changed Leehalt at all. And though he had first felt anger, now he was just sad.

"Liar," said Gallows. "You're just speaking with a forked tongue."

"What reason have I to lie?" Leehalt said, keeping calm. "Explain."

"Don't go giving me orders."

He considered the thought of taking charge; it was a situation that needed finesse, and though he trusted each friend with his life, some were smoother than others. But showing such a weakness was something he'd not do. Leehalt would capitalise on it. He knew it didn't matter who got the information, so long as it was true and prompt. He ran a hand through his hair. If he wasn't lying (and surely he wouldn't be alone if he were), Malik was the one they'd need to find. But Leehalt wouldn't be caught again in a hurry.

"Why the Guardians?" he asked, and he stared at Leehalt.

Leehalt returned it, waited briefly, and said, "I am no such fool as to tell you everything. Be grateful for what you have."

"I vote we force it out of him," said Jet.

"The Sample. Oh, my apologies. The last time I used such words, you became rather excited."

There was silence. The meaning was obvious, to Clive: Leehalt was testing their boundaries. He wanted to cause chaos, anger, confusion – in which he'd make his escape. Or worse. It wouldn't be so bad were he human, but none of them were. Not before, and certainly not now. Which was a shame. Because a second life was not a chance most got, and if they were foolish enough to ignore it, then they couldn't be classed as scientists at all. Investigation, dedication – their work (he considered himself a scientist of Filgaia's history) changed lives. And he was unsure as how to treat Melody. She was an idiot, obsessed with beauty. But could even she be changed by such an experience? Not that he cared too much.

"Where is Malik?" he said.

Leehalt shrugged best as he could.

Before he'd finished, Gallows tossed him over.

"We should have just shot him! It'd be one less problem to deal with."

"Shoot me. Kill yourselves. Can a dead man die?" Leehalt had been caught by Clive; his tone was analytical. "Do ghosts bleed?"

Virginia was quiet. She hadn't spoken since Leehalt's accusation.

She pulled out a Medium and saw him flinch:

"The look in your eyes. Why do you want this?"

Leehalt composed himself, though the sight of a Guardian Lord's medium left him with a bitter aftertaste, "Ask your father. He knows all about stealing what doesn't belong to him."

"My mother never belonged to anyone!"

"And now she dares to lecture me. How droll."

"I don't hate you," Virginia said. "You deserve pity. You're pathetic! Carrying onto a grudge that should have died a long time ago."

"Do I lecture you about your father? No. So be quiet."

"You can't hurt me. I pity you."

"Jet, do you think we can see Malik from here?"

"Nah. Maybe we can use the telescope?"

Clive thought carefully.

"It's possible," he said. "Though we'd have to be looking in the right direction."

"So we don't have an idea at all. Marvellous."

"We could force it out of him," said Gallows. "Either he tells or we break his nose again," he tapped Leehalt on the shoulder, but his face showed the seriousness of the moment, "and I doubt he likes pain. Hey, you never know. But we know something, at least."

"And what's that?" Leehalt's gaze rose to face him. "Your genetic aberrations?"

"What's dead is alive."

"And your point would be?"

"You're something that shouldn't be on Filgaia. The Guardians'll know what to do with you."

All saw Leehalt's face pale.

"We should take him to the Sanctuary," Gallows said, thinking of the subject; he wanted to be there when the Guardians gave him what for. "They'll know what's going on. I'll get Granny to lend us the Ark Sceptre."

"It sounds good to me. But can we manage?" said Virginia.

"It's the best available option," said Clive. "Though the prospect of his friends following us is not a tolerable one. And Malik has the unfortunate habit of being emotional."

Leehalt just listened. Malik with a bomb had been a lie, though one he too wouldn't have liked to disbelieve. The mention of the Guardians had filled him with a sense of dead. His skin was flush, the blood running, and his hands suddenly felt colder than they had in a long time. But… he could use this opportunity. He couldn't contact the Guardians – that was the reason behind their needing the Ark Sceptre all those years ago. He wanted to destroy the Mediums, a means of contact between the Guardians and their bearers. With those and the Ark Sceptre gone, the Guardians couldn't interfere. Not readily.

So perhaps it was going well.


	7. Ways of Approach

**Disclaimer**: Wild Arms 3 and all associated characters are not mine.

-o-

"You told Virginia it was her fault," said Jet, keeping his pistol near. "Talk to her like that again and I'll make sure you regret it."

"It's raining again," Leehalt remarked.

"My face is over here."

"You should relax, Jet. He's just testing your boundaries," said Clive.

"Yea, I know. Doesn't mean I have to like it."

A while later the group and its prisoner were on a train headed for Midland Station, from where they'd go on foot to the Baskar Colony, and then to the Guardian Shrine. Virginia had decided against taking Leehalt on horseback, as the man wasn't used to it, and she knew Clive's remarks were true: they had better chances if Leehalt didn't have a fast animal to control, nor be on saddleback with one he may take hostage. Gallows had paid for their tickets, and though Leehalt's disregard was irksomely annoying, he kept focused on the fact the Guardians would tear him a new one, and grabbed a pamphlet from a man campaigning on the platform before boarding.

Virginia looked at it with interest and recollection. Gallows had noticed it, all right; the only woman she knew well enough in using the dual-image of swords and gems to deliver promises was Maya Schrödinger. The rest of the world didn't know what Maya was like, but she did.

"Strange," said Clive, seated to her left. "It's taken a while for her to start. And didn't you swear she'd become president over your dead body? Maybe not in those words, but the will behind it was like steel. You're not one to give up on your word. Your father wouldn't want you to, either."

They ignored Leehalt's snort.

"I would think so. But what should I do?"

"We, Virginia. You're not-"

Clive was going to finish, but the carriage door was opened, and outside they saw a steward with a silver trolley. It was carrying a meal, as well as a serving trey with a cup, with floral motive, and a small bowl, as well as a metal jar.

"Excuse me. Someone ordered tea and this morning's paper?" the man said.

Virginia opened her lips to speak when Leehalt stood to afford the man some room. He waved him in, taking over without uttering a word. She felt offended, out of place. Leehalt's arrogance was overbearing, and she found herself wondering if Malik and Melody put up with it as tolerantly as she did. She did so not because they were friends (absolutely not), but because she was focused on the long-term goal. The true nature of this man was known to them. Clive hadn't looked up. If he knew nothing so petty could interfere, she'd trust his judgement. And, looking around, it seemed Jet and Gallows had reached the same conclusion. Though the trolley left them with little room. The hem of her skirt was touching its wheels.

"This is good," said Leehalt, taking his seat. He dusted his sleeves and said, "We arrive by nightfall. At Midland Station, correct? You bleat on and on about justice, and flaunt your charitable natures in the faces of those who don't care. One would think those who saved humanity had compassion. Tip the man, would you?"

Clive was put-out by the revelation of their status, but the steward put it down to internal rivalry and took the gella Gallows handed over. Gallows just wanted him gone so they could deal with Leehalt in their own professional manner.

The door clicked shut.

"We're paying for it, we use it." Jet grabbed the trolley and wheeled it over. "Better in my lips than yours. It'd only come out the holes we shot you with." Gallows was jostling nearby. "Unless you need it to gel that face of yours back together," Jet continued. "Clive knows all about antiquity." And he reached for the smaller cup.

"You take it with milk," Leehalt began, but he quietened.

"So what if I do?" said Jet.

"Wasteful." Leehalt reached for the pot; he took it from under Jet's nose. "Unrefined, uncultured. The milk lessens the effectiveness of the natural drug. Then again, I never expected such a being to know about chemistry and biological reactions. It is possible somebody altered the original purpose of the research and decided to play father. I would have said Werner himself, but he's dead, isn't he?"

Jet checked the safety on his ARM, and then said, "Shut your mouth."

"Maya Schrödinger?" Leehalt eyed Gallow's pamphlet; he took the newspaper and unfolded it. "I would vote for a man with experience. Too many are taken in by flash over substance. The fact she is a woman is inconsequential. Though if forced to choose, I would vote for… Incorrect, I'd abstain."

"Are you always this fond of small talk?" said Gallows.

"Yes," said Clive. "I'd wondered that too."

"It passes the time."

Virginia watched them argue over the sugar-pot, wondering quietly what she'd do about Maya Schrödinger. She respected her, but felt Maya in power would be unpredictable. The woman was volatile, dishonest, selfish, but she'd proved capable of working with them when it counted. She watched Leehalt, hidden behind the sheets of his newspaper, and came to a decision quickly. Maya was the least of her problems. This man would never come willingly. There had to be something behind his reasoning.

And I'll work it out, she thought.

-o-

When the train arrived at Midland, Jet stepped on the platform first and directed his gaze at Clive and Leehalt, whose attention was focused on noting every exit from the station.

"I'll shoot your legs off if you try," he said.

"Then we both shall be crippled," said Leehalt.

"Then I'll knock you out and cap that smart-ass mouth of yours."

A whistle screeched nearby, and as the train pulled out, Clive said, "Gallows, we should reach your home in a matter of days. I would suggest we buy food from the stand before we leave, to conserve our rations."

Leehalt was saying nothing, and his silence made Clive quieten. Finally, when they were isolated enough, he said:

"But if you think we have forgotten what you've did, I advise you to reconsider. If you believe me, that'll be better for you, because this journey will be somewhat bearable. Which leads me to my second question: those people at Ballack Rise, how did you do it?"

"Words hold immeasurable power..."

"So you lied."

"No. I told the truth. And that is what scares you the most."

There was a stomping of feet, and Gallows clapped Leehalt on the shoulder, his fingers digging through the old lab coat.

"I'd advise you tell us everything," he said; he moved to the front, and searched Leehalt for the Mediums.

Gallows stepped back, empty-handed.

"Where are they?" His tone was stern.

"Human beings are impulsive creatures," Leehalt said. "Did you think I would be so foolish? Impossible."

Gallows stiffened, but he relaxed and smiled in a way that showed his thoughts. Then Clive said, "Truly, honesty is the most fearful of lies. That is why you are a master. But you are not sensible. To perjure yourself is to separate from your companions. I've seen Malik. He doesn't strike me as mentally abnormal, but when one thinks of how his life ended…"

"Are you calling me a liar?"

"Yes."

Clive touched his glasses. He had to keep himself controlled, because dealing with this man was different to handling Melody; he was, unlike her, unreliable when it came to the truth of his emotions. And he was more manipulative; Melody had used innocent women, men, as did they all, but as vainglorious as she may be, Leehalt held no guilt when it came to the management of his work colleagues. Some feelings were there, perhaps? But what? If he weren't using Malik, he'd not be so hasty to defend himself. Or Malik's feelings. But when had Leehalt thought of anything but his hatred?

It was when Gallows pushed Leehalt past that Clive said, "I don't wish to interfere in your personal life, but if you lie and destroy this second chance at life, what will you have left? What is more important? Your existence or your petty vengeance?"

Clive was looking for an understanding with a fellow scientist. He didn't trust Leehalt, didn't admire him, but he couldn't disallow the man his genius. A member of the Council of Seven, warped and twisted, but knowledgeable. It was a shame his emotional capacity was that of a walnut. They needed to get those Mediums, to restore them to their rightful place. But the Guardians surely knew the situation: the disallowed boundary between death and life, shattered. Their travel across the planet told them of their approach. They'd be waiting. Only, they needed the Ark Sceptre. Gallows would tell his grandmother the truth.

And Leehalt wanted to prevent this. He admitted as much with the theft of the Mediums. So, logically, the Ark Sceptre was his only reason for being caught.

So now, sure this theft was Leehalt's plan, he pulled Virginia aside as they neared the exit and brought up the issue, no louder than a whisper, and it was spoken with glances in Leehalt's direction. He was at the ticket stand with Jet and Gallows. The Guardians would understand; he wouldn't let their connection to Filgaia be torn asunder. But he had to wonder as to Leehalt's motives, Clive thought, and it seemed to have something to do with what he said to Virginia.

It didn't take Clive long to explain. He nodded at Leehalt, who watched them from the sheets of his newspaper. He didn't like it, but it was petty, insignificant. It didn't matter.

"We tell Halle the truth soon as we arrive," Virginia said.

"Do you think we'll need an extra man on watch?"

Virginia smiled, and said, "That'll be a good idea, when we get there."

"Can we leave?" Leehalt called.

Jet said, "Shut up."

Clive walked to them. "Your life for the Mediums. That seems a fair exchange. Once we find out what's happened, the Guardians will decide your fate. Why don't you think about what you've done with your years?"

Jet left and Leehalt looked at Clive.

"None of you have the eyes of a killer. Therefore, your words are without merit. If you are going to play with lives, be strong; mean what you say. Otherwise, don't waste my time."

Virginia looked at the paper Leehalt held, distracted. This man, an inconsiderate, selfish being, had endangered everyone. Millions of people didn't know he would have forced them to change into demons or perish; he had even admitted he didn't care! Those nanomachines would have killed most life on Filgaia, life as a scientist he had sworn to save. And now she understood why Clive was so enraged. She didn't like to think a human being could be so cruel. She walked over and tore the paper out his hands.

"You're in no position to be making demands," she said.

Leehalt looked at her.

"And what demands have I made? How extraordinarily like your father to show such nerve. But he is dead and I am very much alive. So I win in the end, all thanks to you." He smiled, and Virginia balled her hands. "Only, unlike that man," he nodded at Gallows, "I know when to afford praise. Thank you, Virginia Maxwell, for your unerring capacity for naiveté. Now may we go?"

The atmosphere chilled and Gallows looked between Jet and their prisoner. He knew those words were designed to hurt, and so he switched attention to the one he felt needed his support. Nobody should say such things to a woman. He was many things: a slouch, a slacker, a man who'd once shirked duty, but always was respectful towards the fairer sex. He disliked such words and feelings as the ones Leehalt made their leader feel. And Virginia. Now that man had made a mistake. His plan was to hurt her, offend her; the girl had defeated him, and that need for revenge was his weakness. And Gallows trusted Virginia; he knew she wouldn't let herself be put down. At least not in public. He made sure to take her by the arm as they left Midland Station.

"Are you all right?" Gallows said.

"I'm tired, but fine. I won't let him get to me."

"That's more like it. I'll tell Granny to make you some nice warm soup."

-o-

When Melody first noticed Leehalt's absence the altitude was leaving her short of breath, and her breathing was deeper than ever. She put a key in the door to unbolt the lock and saw his home was empty, as it had been before she'd left to search the town. There was a doubtful feeling as she closed it without entering; it wasn't known to Malik (if it was, his silence was uncharacteristic), but the absence of their chief did nothing to allay her fear. Ballack Rise seemed empty in the morning sunlight, and as she headed for the bar, Malik came bounding round the corner and grabbed her by the arm.

"Look at this," he said, "homemade antidote." And then he noticed her mood: "It'll cure what ails you."

She had a quick look at the bottle-green tumbler, wondering why Malik was swigging it like it was some mere tonic, but decided to ignore him. They were now alone, but she felt strange. She wanted the attention of men, but people here were too low-class; and now Leehalt had gone, she didn't feel empty. Nor was she furious. She didn't feel anything.

"Have you seen him?" she said.

"Seen who?" Malik's breath had the tang of bitter herbs. And alcohol.

Melody narrowed her eyes, checking her nails were able to ball safely within her fists, and then pressed two fingers to the pulse in her neck. She was still the only one of the two who took their work seriously, it seemed, and she wondered how long Malik would take to ruin everything they'd worked for. Just like that time at... A memory of bullets and pain, blood, but she put it away. They were alive. That had been their original goal, to survive on such a filthy planet. Only Filgaia was healing, and so her anger was no longer justified.

"Leehalt. Surely you've noticed. Where is he?"

"Dunno. He said he wanted to be alone, so I let him. I really don't understand, when I interfere you chastise me, yet when you want me to… Have you tried this? It's really nice. Brings some colour to your cheeks, especially in winter. And if I..."

Melody took the glass and threw it. The container shattered, and the contents seeped into the earth. "If only you cared," she cried. "but you act like nothing is different." She was talking calmer, and continued, "Your irresponsibility, same then as now, is a threat. But you get away with it and I cannot understand why. I wouldn't have been allowed to make such mistakes."

Malik was listening, with his head resting on his shoulder; his attention was focused not on Melody's anger but the words she spoke. His lack of memory was unnatural, and he'd resolved to do something about it. His colleagues, people he needed to trust, were lying. And if he could not trust them (which he didn't, he just liked a pleasant working atmosphere), then they meant nothing. His loyalty was to mother, nobody else, the one who had always been there, but the dead were unable to offer congratulations. He liked to be admired for his work, so he clung to those in a higher position, and his equals, and slaved. He had earned this respect at a young age, when he'd been invited into the Council of Seven. They were the best. And then, after all they'd been through, he'd discovered they were lying, because he was sure of it, and paranoia was an undesirable mental state, but with it came truth. And Malik was sure he was perfectly fine. He'd never felt better.

"You should lie down," he asked.

Melody shook her head.

"I need to work."

He pushed the drink into her hand. "Sorry, sorry. I've been inconsiderate of your feelings. Let me do the work – you go put your feet up." He coiled her fingers round the glass, which was warm from the brew. "Just let me in when I come knocking."

"Malik."

And so she left, unobservant of the anger on her colleague's face.

-o-

"Right. Let's see," Malik said to himself.

Unlike Melody, his heart was never on his sleeve.

"Data encryption."

"Password."

He typed more. The key flashed.

"Well, it's not Ekatrina. Do you have any ideas, brain of mine?"

"Etymology was never your field."

Malik tapped the enter key and ran round the console. "And that was an unrelated statement. Keep off the homebrew, it does nothing for you," he said. "Mama never liked a drunk. Had to kill some, didn't we?" With Melody and Leehalt's truth-hiding, Malik was searching the archives. "Better than calling it a databank, to be sure. I wonder where he keeps the wine."

Melody wasn't there to say, "Your mind is like a butterfly," he mouthed. "Flying here, there, anywhere but to the place it ought to go."

Back down the other side, Malik heard clicking and a hum as the system booted. The walls of Yggdrasil were sterile and cold, faux-organic. He felt right at home. Malik pulled on the lapels of his lab coat and went to brew some coffee for his search. He hummed a tune; he was flighty, capricious, but also sound and mistrustful as ever.


End file.
